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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244939">Mallgoblins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danaknowsitall/pseuds/Danaknowsitall'>Danaknowsitall</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShivaeSyke/pseuds/ShivaeSyke'>ShivaeSyke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Strange Magic (2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Enemies, F/M, Humor, Roland (Strange Magic) Being an Asshole, Teenagers, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, We Live In a Mall, Young Adults</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:29:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danaknowsitall/pseuds/Danaknowsitall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShivaeSyke/pseuds/ShivaeSyke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne's parents own an old mall and Bog's parents helped renovate it to turn it into a themed mall with residential housing on the upper floors. Now, they get to live in this amazing fantasyland.<br/>There's just one problem.</p><p>They hate each other the moment they meet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Fairy Forest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Danaknowsitall are writing this together so welcome to the chaos, and is is chaos. <br/>I've been laughing maniacally and Dana doesn't want to let me near Bog anymore. :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bog was not amused.</p><p>He stood next to the moving van watching as the movers carried his life in half a dozen boxes to the loading dock that led into the mall. Thankfully, he didn’t have to carry any of the boxes himself. That would have been the perfect end to his day.</p><p>They had planned the move for months, following his parent’s joint venture with their new business partners in the formerly named Black Creek Mall. The Golds, the family who owned the mall, had loved his father’s plan to revitalize the old mall and turn it into a flagship design to be rolled out on several other malls that had outlived their usefulness.</p><p>In a show of faith in its design and how well it worked, Bog’s family moved from their massive posh house into a penthouse-style suite on the mall’s fourth floor. They added another floor to one side of the mall, adding the first of two luxury accommodations. The Thornes shared the floor with the Gold family.</p><p>Bog was going to live in a mall, and it seemed so wrong. Malls were dead places where people like his father and mother used to hang out. Worse was his father’s request he find a part-time job on top of his morning classes at the local University.</p><p>A mall.</p><p>Bog’s focus went to the boxes bearing his name in black. Until the movers finished unloading his things, he might as well explore his new home. Grumbling, Bog headed for the stairs the loaders were using, then strode into the hall that wouldn’t open for another half hour. Maybe he could find something for breakfast or some promising shop inside that would make use of his artistic abilities.</p><p>Most likely, not.</p><p>###</p><p>Skylights provided bright, natural light throughout the halls, and in the central courtyard, glass windows rose through the main three floors. Foliage filled the hallways, hiding columns of concrete. Between them were shop windows and large expanses of temporary walls marking off stores that did not have any tenants. Bog idled in front of those massive flats of space, pondering the ideas flowing through his mind.</p><p>Why were these all blank when they were canvases for so much more? He could come up with designs and paint them to match the mall’s décor. Fairy Forest. Bog snorted at the signs. To fit the theme, every store inside the mall bore wood carved signs that harkened to a fantasy world.</p><p>There were kiosks strewn through the wide hallway, photo booths, coin machines, random rides for kids, a massive carousel filled with fantasy animals, and play areas. An artisan donut shop, run by a giant of a man Bog quickly found to be called Brutus, tempted him to buy a small box of fancy, assorted donut holes, along with a chai tea. It was the perfect antidote to the hunger pangs that made themselves known after all of Bog’s wanderings.</p><p>Swings dropped from little alcoves, covered in vines and leaves. There were areas for climbing, hiding, tunnels built like tree limbs that crossed over the halls. Rope bridges with carefully laid out planks of wood and safety nets ran up and down the halls. Honestly, if Bog were much younger, he would have loved to run up and down the entirety of the mall on these things.</p><p>It was like an enchanted forest where you could buy things. Bog felt a reluctant admiration for the commitment the original designers had as he popped a maple iced, cream filled confection into his mouth. A lot of thought had gone into the style and general atmosphere, a fairytale vision come to life.</p><p>He walked along, milling around aimlessly, taking everything in. He finished off the donut holes and the chai, which was the most delicious he had ever had. Before he realized it, he wasn’t alone as the mall opened, and people with families began filling the halls. Children swung and played happily in the alcoves, and he even spotted a few teenagers trying to find a spot to canoodle. Grumbling again at the blatant sight of public display of affection, he continued on his exploration, eventually reaching the end of the long mall, and spotting a game store, decided to go in to see if the new ‘Overnite’ was out yet.</p><p>On the way there, Bog checked out a potential spot for his mother’s ‘Crystal Cave’ store she had set her mind on opening. She was always placing her weird crystals around the house, set in bowls of coconut husks. Bog would find them in odd places but learned long ago never to touch or shift them if he wanted to avoid a scolding.</p><p>The spot was well placed—clearly visible from all angles, and close to a restroom corner while not too close to be unappealing. There was a café not too far, on the opposite side, so when people sat down, they could see and be enticed to enter the store. It looked a fair size, but not too big, so Griselda would struggle to fill it.</p><p>It was perfect.</p><p>Bog felt his mood rise with the prospect of telling his mother that he found the perfect spot, and with a guarded smile, he entered the game shop.</p><p>The first thing Bog noticed was a long row of t-shirts. There were a few he’d never seen before, from old TV shows he liked as a kid, some with memes, others had superhero logos on them, and he sifted through them intently. Before long, he found one he liked—a dark blue tee with a minimalistic yellow Wolverine mask printed on it. It was good quality, the cotton soft and pleasant to the touch. The print was not a sticker so that it would endure washing better. The people who owned the shop knew what they were doing when selecting the shirts.</p><p>He found a size and moved on, passing by a pair of teenagers rummaging through the discount bucket and another lady viewing the game console display. He passed through, heading to the new game aisle in front of the check-out counter.</p><p>Snagging a ‘customers-only’ taffy from a bowl by the scanner on the counter as he walked by, Bog didn’t get any further. A hand closed around his wrist before it even cleared the lip of the bowl. He turned around, a sneer already set in place to confront the offender. He expected to be face to face with some acne infested high-schooler—instead, he found himself glaring into a young woman’s face. She was petite with wild brown hair lit with purple highlights and a snarl to match his own.</p><p>“Sweets for customers only!” she said, shifting her intense brown eyes to the small printed sign—pixelated font in bright colors echoing her words.</p><p>“I am a customer.” Bog held out the shirt, shaking it for emphasis.</p><p>“I don’t recall checking you out,” she pointed out. “No money, no candy.”</p><p>The girl still held his wrist, snug, but not enough to hurt. She clearly never had any customer-service training.</p><p>“I’m looking for a game—then I’ll pay. I want my candy before, thanks very much,” Bog said snidely, refusing to back down. “It’s already in my hand anyway. You know, these things spread germs. The fewer hands in them, the better.”</p><p>“My shop, my rules,” she declared, and he was surprised to discover she owned the place. She was so young… “I buy these out of my own money, and I say—” she reached another tiny hand to pry open Bog’s fingers and snatch the little taffy back—“Sweets for customers only.”</p><p>Bog exhaled slowly through his nose, jerking his hand back hard enough that the girl almost came over the counter with him. Then he flicked his wrist, tossing the candy into the bowl where it smacked into the lip and rebounded to hit the girl on the cheek.</p><p>The look she gave him as the taffy bounced off the counter and hit the floor could have melted steel. “Get out,” she hissed, sliding back to stand rigidly behind the counter. She jerked her right hand across her body, pointing to the door with her middle finger extended.</p><p>“Whatever! I don’t need this crap, anyway!” Bog threw the shirt on the counter and stomped out. The other shoppers stared wide-eyed and gaping at the altercation, and the two high-schoolers whispered between each other as he left.</p><p>Swearing under his breath, Bog turned and went to the right. That little annoying—he hesitated, grinding his lower jaw hard. What would be the most insulting thing he could call her? Princess. She had this hardcore, rock aesthetic that he would have found attractive if her personality didn’t get in the way.</p><p>Bog’s walk slowed, his pulse still racing from the encounter and sudden burst of anger. She would have been—no, she was pretty. He shook his head. No. Don’t fall for it, you idiot. That woman is nothing but trouble. He sighed and leaned against the closest wall, sinking back amid the fake foliage.</p><p>The mall was full of people, talking, laughing, and having a good time. A couple of grade-school-boys zoomed by on small rideable animals—a dragon and a horse. They squealed and hit at each other with foam swords, keeping within the orange lines on the floor, marking their paths in the center of the large hallway. A little girl on a rainbow-colored unicorn followed them, waving a flashing, ribbon-wrapped wand. “Wait for me!” she shrieked.</p><p>Bog chuckled, amused by the sight. His parents had made something unique and fun. There was a place for him here. He just had to find it, and he wouldn’t let that little harpy princess get in his way.</p><p>###</p><p>Marianne pulled a small, pocket-sized mirror out of her brown crossbody bag, where she hid it beneath the counter. She muttered to herself about obnoxious, spoiled boys as she checked her cheek for damage. There was a tiny red spot that would likely fade within five minutes, but the thought of that boy making any kind of mark on her skin was infuriating.</p><p>The woman that stood browsing by the game console display tentatively came to the counter, and Marianne tried for a modicum of professionalism.</p><p>“How can I help you?” Marianne was proud to say her voice was steady and pleasant, even as her mind still swirled with images of a tall, long-faced boy with a smashed and bleeding nose.</p><p>“Um…” The woman, in her thirties, dressed in tan slacks, a white dress shirt, and a briefcase looked around, as though there was another employee to help her with her query. She looked uncomfortable—likely due to the sparks still shooting out of Marianne’s eyes. “Uh, I, um, I want to buy a controller for the SRT 480. That red one.” She pointed at the product she wanted, and Marianne sighed, coming to the glass display, pulling her set of keys out of her belt clip.</p><p>###</p><p>“You just don’t get it, Dawn. You don’t. Get. It!”</p><p>“What is there to get? You met a boy, he was kind of rude, and you kicked him out of the store. End of story!” Dawn threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Why are you going on and on about it like he kidnapped your firstborn?”</p><p>“He—! But…” Marianne fumbled for words at the concise summary her sister gave. Sure, on paper, it was as simple as Dawn said. But the reality was so much more… more… maddening. The was something about him that had her stomach reeling. “He was an asshole!”</p><p>Dawn sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward as though asking for divine help with hardheaded older sisters. “Okay, he was rude! But Mari, you met him for two minutes and have talked about him for two hours. I have to go now, and you literally followed me while I was getting ready to leave.”</p><p>“Ugh, do you really have to go and leave me to deal with mom and dad and their ‘business’—” here Marianne did a quotation marks in the air and pulled a face—“partners? It’s going to be so boring.”</p><p>“And that is why I am not coming. I thought that was obvious, Mari.” Dawn checked her make-up in the mirror, wiping off a tiny smudge from her mascara. “Besides, you’re going to that fancy Chinese restaurant you love.”</p><p>“Well, that is true…” Marianne conceded. It was her favorite restaurant—awful company aside. She could do with eating her frustration away.</p><p>“Yay! So that means you won’t be texting me non-stop? You’ll be too busy stuffing your face!” Dawn clapped her hands merrily.</p><p>“Bah! Fine. You are permitted to go without any further complaints!” Marianne folded her arms under her chest and turned her face away.</p><p>“Thanks, sis! See you later!” Without further ado, Dawn snatched her small bag and phone from her bed and ran out the door of her room, leaving Marianne still miffed and seething behind.</p><p>“I’m going to remember this next time you have a crush and want to gush about it, you know!” she shouted, her voice following Dawn as she left the penthouse.</p><p>“It’s a worthy sacrifice!” her sister replied, then added, “By the way, you just admitted you have a crush!” And Marianne heard the front door slam shut as she left.</p><p>###</p><p>Grumbling, muttering, and listening to her ‘Angry’ playlist, Marianne got ready for dinner.</p><p>Dawn’s presumption was outrageous. No way did she had a crush on that stupid boy! He was rude and unpleasant! Marianne had higher standards than that.</p><p>She got her favorite black lace dress out of the closet—mid-thigh length and sleeveless. The dress flared out to an A-Line skirt and had a tight bodice around the chest. Marianne matched it with wedge-heeled black leather ankle boots and a short black leather jacket. She finished the outfit with a safety pin necklace and silver studs in her ears, and the minimal dark make-up she usually wore.</p><p>David and Irene, her parents, returned about an hour before the family planned to leave. The sound of their walking around was easily drowned out by the latest song playing—'Blitzkrieg Bop’ by The Ramones—and Marianne jumped when a loud knock banged on her door.</p><p>“Marianne! Five minutes, and we’re leaving!” her father shouted, raising his voice above the music. “Can you turn that down to a civilized level?”</p><p>“Fine! I’m ready!” Marianne called back, lowering the volume enough to listen to her parent’s half-heard conversation.</p><p>“Dear, it’s okay to let some battles go,” her mother added, louder than necessary as the volume went down just as she chastised her husband.</p><p>Neither knew she could hear them and their voices died down as they moved further away from her room.</p><p>Sighing, Marianne slipped her feet into the boots and gathered what she needed to take with her. Basics like an mp3 player and a small set of headphones, some touch-up make-up necessities, and her tiny dragonfly lucky charm shoved into a small suede side bag, and as a last thought, Marianne grabbed her wallet and keys. With the phone stuffed into the hidden pocket of her dress, she left the room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dining With The Enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bog and Marianne join their parents for dinner with their parent's business partners... and are not pleased with who they end up being.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pair of massive Fu Dogs standing sentinel on either side of the entry stood as they had since Bog was a child. On their hind legs, they snarled at all who entered, looking more like Pekingese lapdogs than the fierce guardians they were. Bog smiled at the statues as he followed his parents through the ornate wooden doors, rubbing one of their toes for good luck.</p><p>His favorite restaurant. It was bribery, he knew. A token of compromise for the situation his parents inflicted upon him. All Bog wanted was to be an artist, but his dad just didn't get it. Bog's father, Cameron, was a businessman, one that based his entire world's view that in order to survive, you needed a contract and employment and a paycheck. Each a part of a capitalist cycle that was living in modern society. His older brother followed that path, and Bog never heard the end of it. Heath went to law school. Heath graduated with excellent scores. Heath got three job offers straight out of college. Heath had a thumb up his own ass. Heath, Heath, Heath.</p><p>Why couldn't they see Heath was a giant pain in the neck? His brother would act proper and dignified when their parents were around, but as soon as they turned their backs, Heath was the upmost worst--making lewd jokes, teasing, and name-calling. Bog gave as good as he got, and yeah, of course, he loved his older brother. Their relationship was based on brotherly taunting and showing affection with vicious play-fighting. The six-years-older Heath had been out-grown by the younger brother by the time Bog was sixteen--and rubbed that fact repeatedly in Bog's face. Some ways positive, others less so.</p><p>Bog and his family entered the large, three-storied restaurant five minutes before the scheduled dinner. Cameron was a stickler for punctuality, and he talked about his old-friends turned business partners the whole ride. Utterly disinterested, Bog tuned it all out. Why would it matter to him whether the couple he's about to meet were old school friends or not? He was there for the food and would stay quiet and keep to himself like he usually did.</p><p>To appease his mother, Griselda, Bog dressed in the new shirt she got him—a button-down, white dress shirt with a roaring, white tiger embroidered on the left side, but rebelled against the slacks. Instead, Bot put on a well-worn pair of his favorite jeans. They were slightly too tight around the waistline, and just that little bit too short on the ankles, making him regret putting them on. But, once committed to them, he couldn't back down. His mother couldn't control every little thing he did.</p><p>And that's why—to finish off his outfit—he went with his favorite pair of broken-in leather sneakers. They were good quality shoes but had seen better days. His mother couldn't complain. Everything was clean, and he even took a moment to check himself in the bathroom mirror before leaving.</p><p>His short, wavy hair stood up haphazardly, held into place with just the right amount of gel. He didn't bother shaving, sporting a slightly scruffy look, but he did dab on a little cologne.</p><p>Bog glanced down at his shoes as he walked across the short red carpet decorated with images of Chinese dragons doing battle. It hadn't changed since he was a child, rolling around on it, trying to pet the dragons. He could almost hear the exasperated groans from his parents as they pulled him off the floor.</p><p>"It looks like we're the first ones here," said Cameron as a waiter escorted them to their table.</p><p>"We'll order a few appetizers," Griselda added with a smile, gathering up the long flowing skirt of her dark green dress into her hands as her husband pulled out a chair for her. "Dynamite Shrimp rolls?"</p><p>"My favorite," Bog grinned, waiting for his father to push the chair in for his mother. While Cameron dressed in business casual, white shirt, black slacks, and a golden tie, his mother had this whole 'I just returned home from Woodstock' vibe. Everything she wore was flowy, light, and actually stunning and put together. Griselda had braided her fiery red hair, mixing tiny flowers into her hair. She wore a simple pearl headband just above her hairline. One of her customary crystals hung from a black cord around her neck—vibrant orange carnelian.</p><p>It was a stone chosen for motivation and to awaken a passion for creation and success. Bog knew everything about every stone and crystal his mother owned, even though he didn't necessarily believe in any of it. He never made fun of his mother for it because she honestly believed it, and in his eyes, it was harmless.</p><p>However, the chi and feng shui she dealt in were far more interesting to him, not because of the 'spiritual' aspects, but because in many ways, it just worked. There were ways of arranging things that were just right, and the concepts held within it seemed accurate, even if they were a little bizarre to others. Organization was something Bog loved—laying out items in patterns, orienting them in specific directions, and aligning the energies he instinctively felt was a challenge. It didn't fit the specifics of real feng shui, but it was his own thing, which he sometimes simply referred to Bog Tao—Bog's Way. Then he giggled about it to himself, refusing to tell anyone that's what he called his methods. It was just an amusement, and it worked for him.</p><p>Bog sat next to his mother, noting the arrangement across the table—three chairs, where undoubtedly, he would be facing the eldest daughter of his parents' business associates. Marianne Gold—that was her name. She was some geeky computer programmer, only a year older than him.</p><p>Griselda began placing orders for drinks and appetizers while Bog concentrated on the menu, imagining who would be sitting across from him. Probably some mousy girl with big, black-framed glasses. She might even be cute. Actually, nerdy girls were very attractive in Bog's mind. They could be shy, sweet, and a lot of fun. Possibly, she might be more outgoing and want to talk about computers and programming. Hopefully, video games. That would be a subject Bog could converse on equal grounds with anyone. He had some computer knowledge, but coding did not work with his artist's mind. There were too many rigid rules, and while he loved order, it was his personal order that he set into place, not someone else's.</p><p>"They're caught in traffic." Cameron waved his phone as he spoke. "They'll be here in a few minutes, and they asked us to order a few appetizers for them so they'll be ready when they get here."</p><p>"Good thing we already had." Griselda grinning, glancing at her son. "I'm surprised you haven't run into Marianne. Her mother told me she has a little store in the mall, and she's usually always there."</p><p>"I'll look out for her." Bog perused the menu, letting the words fall by the wayside, now very interested in meeting this girl. </p><p>She's a nerdy programmer, and she runs a shop in the mall? Interesting. What kind of store would such a girl own?</p><p>Marianne stepped out of the car with her parents as the valet took her father's keys, running her hands down her dress to straighten it. The restaurant was busy tonight, and while they sat in traffic, her mother began talking about their business partner's son, Bog.</p><p>What an odd name.</p><p>This Bog was a year younger than her and a little shy. The number of times her mother stated he didn't have a girlfriend was concerning—then she went into how he had art on display in City hall and had won several awards in painting and design. The more words that fell out of her mother's mouth, the more snobby this boy sounded.</p><p>Then again, she hadn't met him and shouldn't pass judgments on someone based on what her mother was telling her. He could be a perfectly nice boy, but he was a boy. He had just graduated from high school and took a year off to 'find himself'—such an obnoxious way to put it. Find yourself. You didn't need to take off a year to figure out who you were.</p><p>Marianne closed her eyes for a moment as they walked into the restaurant, the delicious smells of authentic Chinese food filling the air. She loved this restaurant. It was the place she had always chosen as a kid. As her parents spoke to the greeter, her eyes drifted down to the floor, and a smile lit up her face at the sight of the dragons. The dragons had always been there, and for a moment, she remembered rolling around on the floor, trying to pretend that she was one of them, until her mother, mortified, hauled her to her feet as her baby sister tried to do the same thing.</p><p>A giggle escaped, and Marianne's mood lifted considerably. She reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, following her parents to their table. They wound through the packed dining room, and Marianne wasn't paying attention to much of anything until she heard a clatter in front of her and caught a glimpse of silverware falling to the floor.</p><p>Her parents laughed and stepped aside, and all Marianne saw was a very tall, slender man rise to his feet, then immediately bend from his middle a few feet in front of her to reach for the fallen silverware. She froze, unable to take her eyes off of him. First of all, he was wearing jeans that appeared a little too tight, outlining every single curve of his butt and thighs, down incredibly long slim legs. Then there was the white shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had rolled his sleeves up to the middle of his arms, so she caught every movement of slender muscle leading to large hands with long, slim fingers.</p><p>Oh, wowza. </p><p>She didn't realize she did it when she licked her lips, watching him rise slowly, almost grandly, to set the silverware aside. He didn't seem to realize anyone was standing near him, shaking his hair out of his eyes when he turned back to the table, stating apologetically, "Oops." That voice? There was something familiar about his voice, and she studied the back of his head and the way his hair fell into wild waves.</p><p>"Marianne, you should sit down," her mother called out, breaking her fixation.</p><p>"Oh, yes! Sorry, head in the clouds!" Marianne laughed and when she did, the young man went completely rigid for the briefest of moments, and she thought it was because he realized someone was standing behind him—until he turned.</p><p>The breath left Marianne's body as her eyes met his, those piercing blue eyes set into the face of a boy she had been loathing for most of the day. It was him—that obnoxious child who had made a mockery of her in her own store. A scowl crossed his face, and she returned it twofold, hoping somehow she was shooting fire out of her eyes in warning that he had better not say anything.</p><p>She ground her jaw, pursing her lips before walking around the table without even bothering to introduce himself. Her good mood vanished, sinking into a bottomless, dark pit that she had been looking at him, studying him for a whole thirty seconds, thinking, wow, I would like to touch that—all over.</p><p>"Bog, this is Marianne," Griselda stated, nudging her son as he sat down next to her. "Why didn't you introduce yourself?" she added in a whisper that everyone heard.</p><p>Marianne grimaced as her mother turned to her and stated in a scolding tone, "Marianne."</p><p>"Hello, Bog," she continued grinding her teeth, "I'm Marianne."</p><p>"Marianne." Bog nodded, fixing her with a cold glare. </p><p>He flinched, glanced at his mother, and spoke between clenched teeth, "Pleased to meet you."</p><p>Their parents stared at them. Bog and Marianne smiled suddenly, even though the tenseness was still apparent in their twitching jaws and lips. They glared across the table.</p><p>"I hear you're an artist." Marianne began, trying her best to start a conversation that perhaps her parents or his parents would take up. Bog stared at her in silence, seemingly not having heard a word she said.</p><p>"You program computers? I wouldn't have expected that."</p><p>"I don't program computers." Marianne rolled her eyes, grabbing for the full water glass in front of her. "I code games."</p><p>"Ah!" Bog copied her, jerking his hand out as though making up for lost time, grabbing for his glass. Instead of catching the glass, his fingers hit it, and it flew across the table. Marianne gaped in horror as ice and water went everywhere. She threw her hands up, trying to scoot back as fast as she could, and her glass tipped onto her mother's shoulder. The ensuing scream of shock made her drop the glass entirely, and her leg caught on the chair.</p><p>Marianne went down with a yelp, falling painfully with her leg twisted under the chair. She laid there for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling at the gold and red chandelier gleaming overhead.</p><p>Yup. Right now. This was the moment. A perfect sequence of calamity that would end with a giant chandelier inexplicably falling from the ceiling on top of her, thus ending this embarrassment.</p><p>It didn't happen.</p><p>"Dear, are you okay?" Her mother and father loomed over her, trying to help her up as waiters converged on the table, working quickly to fix the situation. Marianne's face burned as they helped her to her feet.</p><p>"I'm fine." She took a deep breath, wriggling her aching leg around. It didn't seem to be broken or even sprained, just got caught in the rungs. Tomorrow, it would likely leave a severe bruise.</p><p>Slowly, Marianne raised her eyes to look at the cause of her pain. Bog sat in his chair, hands in fists on the table, his mouth agape and face completely white in horror. Well. At least he had some reaction that wasn't a glower or glare. Marianne looked away, wiping at her shirt as a waiter offered her a towel. "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Her mother whispered, laying a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>"I'm fine. It's just water," whispered Marianne, trying to keep the growl out of her voice.</p><p>He.</p><p>Would.</p><p>Pay.</p><p>The words seared through her thoughts in a blaze of fire as she tended to her shirt, then sat at the table, which had been cleaned and dried within minutes. Her mother excused herself, and Marianne glared across the table.</p><p>"It was an accident," said Griselda's mother in concern, nudging Bog in what appeared to be an effort to make him talk."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Marianne," he blurted out. "I didn't do it on purpose."</p><p>She responded with silence, then forced a laugh as she retrieved a dry menu. "Okay." And as she ended the conversation by turning her attention to the menu, she hid her scowl—her lips pursed tightly together as she considered what to do to him.</p><p>Bog cleared his throat and hastily went back to his menu as their parents sat in another moment of silence before deciding not to intervene or say anything. They began talking amongst themselves about the mall and several shops that wanted to open in the upcoming months.</p><p>Marianne peered at Bog over the top of his menu, and all she saw was the top of his head over his. This was war, and she had an excellent idea for a first volley. Taking great care to be quiet, she began working on her right shoe, using the heel of her left to work it off. The shoe fell free, and she wriggled her toes, preparing.</p><p>A moment later, her mother rejoined them, and they ordered their main courses, starting with Marianne. When she finished, she set her menu down and went to work. Slowly, she extended her right foot out, having thought it through that she would be able to do what she had in mind without her mother or anyone but Bog knowing it.</p><p>The moment Marianne's toe touched Bog's leg, he took a deep breath and lowered the menu, staring at her, his eyes cross. She smiled sweetly at him, her elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm, as though paying attention to what her parents were ordering. She watched him out of the corner of his eye as she waited a few seconds, then repeated the move.</p><p>Bog slowly lowered the menu, his eyes locked on Marianne. He shook his head no, and her smile broadened. The look of fear that flashed through his eyes was gratifying. She kept it up, beginning to run her toes up and down his leg in a gentle, teasing way.</p><p>He began making faces at her. Marianne ignored him as his discomfort grew. Then his face contorted as she hit a spot just above his knee, toward the inside of his leg. He shifted about, and a giggle escaped, his face working at maintaining a neutral expression.</p><p>####</p><p>"Bog, it's your turn," his mother said, putting a hand on his arm. Marianne picked up her new glass of water and sipped from it, smiling at him as he squirmed.</p><p>His turn? For a moment, Bog stared at his mother, baffled, his mouth moving in an attempt to find words. Then he noticed the waiter shift out of the corner of his eyes. Of course! He had to place his order—only his mouth was having problems as Marianne continued her relentless assault without showing she was doing anything at all. She was good. He had to give her that. "Duck. Duck." Bog's mouth twitched as he tried to form words.</p><p>"What kind of duck?" the waiter asked patiently.</p><p>"Fffucking duck!" Bog blurted, then shook with laughter. He grimaced and kicked at Marianne, his foot slamming into the underside of the table, making it shake. "No! "He turned to his mother, his face beet red as he tried to stop laughing. "Peking duck!" He leaned into his mother, trying to keep his voice low as literal tears began sliding down his face. "I, uh… I'll tell you later!"</p><p>Marianne grinned in amusement, a look of pure innocence on her face. He trembled, still trying to recover as everyone stared at him. </p><p>"Stop that!" Bog shouted across the table, pushing his chair back.</p><p>"What?" Marianne smiled, slipping her foot quickly back into her boot, her expression daring him to say anything further.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes, blinking in an effort to control himself. "I will have the Peking Duck, steamed vegetables, and egg drop soup." Bog rattled off his order, slapped his menu closed, and handed the menu to the waiter. Then he turned back to the table and laid his head down with a groan, wrapping his arms over his head.</p><p>Marianne sat back, a smug smile on her face. "Awkward," she giggled in a teasing tone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Dinner That Never Ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bog and Marianne's night goes from bad to worse as they are forced to get along for the sake of their parents'.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She’s insane. </p><p>Bog kept his eyes on the table in front of him, crossing his legs beneath the table so he could kick Marianne if she dared try to touch him again—and he planned to do so viciously. She smiled, carrying on a conversation with his parents about her game store as he sat in silence and sulked. </p><p>When the food came, he was able to drown himself in eating, without anyone trying to talk to him. The food still tasted delicious, despite the company sitting across from him. Marianne kept smiling at him—a smile full of mischievous intent—shifting like she was doing something beneath the table. </p><p>Bog tensed up every time she did it. She had already caused him to embarrass himself in front of his parents. Thankfully, neither of them got onto him for yelling at the table, though they did occasionally glance his way, curious expressions on their faces. He’s going to have to answer questions later on. </p><p>He began thinking through a revenge plan. First thing tomorrow morning, Bog would go and buy the biggest, fattest bag of sweets to give this… this she-demon and tell her that since his parents owned half of the mall, he can damn well leave the sweets there for him to have whenever he damn well wanted. </p><p>Yeah, that’ll show her. </p><p>With that in mind—the image of Marianne’s shocked and dismayed face when presented with the candy bag—Bog smiled. He knew it was probably telling, but he couldn’t help it. </p><p>No one asked Bog to participate in the conversation, but he listened whenever the Golds spoke of their fiend of a daughter, feeling a need to know all he could about the enemy. Marianne still threw inane, angelic smiles in his direction whenever his head turned to look at her, but otherwise, they made it through the entire meal with no further incidents. Bog knew she was only biding her time and didn’t trust that innocent face in the least, tensing every time she moved at all. </p><p>While the party waited for dessert, the she-demon whispered in her mother’s ear, and Bog saw her eyes rolling to him slyly. He prepared to defend himself and fully tattle on her, but the two women only rose from the table together to excuse themselves, heading to the bathroom. </p><p>“What is wrong with you?” Bog tore his eyes from Marianne’s swaggering walk and turned to see his mother’s scowl. </p><p>“Eh?” </p><p>“Your cussing and shouting!” Griselda hissed under her breath. Bog looked to see Mr. Gold, and he was engaged in conversation with his father—neither paying any attention to the other Thorne members. </p><p>“I—” Bog wasn’t ready to explain himself there and then. He floundered for an excuse, but Griselda beat him to it. </p><p>“I know that girl is simply gorgeous, isn’t she? And so smart too, to be self-taught! But Bog, honey, you aren’t ever going to win her over by behaving like a baboon. Sit straight, don’t slouch, and speak clearly!” His mother smacked the back of her hand on his arm, and he automatically straightened. </p><p>“I do not—!” he started, indignant at the insinuation. </p><p>“Shh! They’re coming back.” Griselda leaned back in her seat, pasting a warm smile on her face for the other women. </p><p>Without seeming to help himself, Bog instantly looked to Marianne, catching her eyes as she did the same. </p><p>A smirk and lift of the eyebrow later, Bog turned his gaze away, blushing. He was grateful to spot the server coming with their order to offer a distraction. </p><p>The Gold women sat down, and Marianne hummed expectantly, her eyes on the cone-shaped pumpkin pancake she ordered. Bog smelled his dish, steamed red bean buns, and fought the urge to close his eyes at the sweet scent. It’s been his favorite dessert for ten years, and his mouth watered at the thought. </p><p>All dishes served, and the two older women shared a plate of Nian Gao, and both older men each two scoops of red bean and green tea ice cream. </p><p>Bog picked up a clean set of chopsticks to find there were only two buns where there should have been three. Shocked but suspicious, he looked up to see the she-demon chewing pleasantly, a beatific expression on her pixie-like face. Seeing as her pumpkin pancake was untouched and whole, it was rather obvious what happened. </p><p>Grinding his teeth, he leaned forward and growled in a low tone. “Did you take my bun?” </p><p>“Maybe,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand, a small butterfly ring on her forefinger. </p><p>Bog lifted his chopsticks menacingly, clicking them in warning. “I’m taking some of your pancake, then.” </p><p>“You wouldn’t dare!” Marianne swallowed her mouthful, arms reaching to cradle the plate protectively. </p><p>“You took my bun!” </p><p>“You had three. I only have the one pancake!” </p><p>“I still want some.” </p><p>Marianne screwed up her face, her small nose scrunching adorably, and Bog hated her and himself for thinking how cute she looked when angry. “It’s mine, and I’m not sharing.” </p><p>“Oh?” Bog leaned back again, recalling another time she refused to share something. “Like that candy in your store?” </p><p>She pursed her lips and relaxed slightly, now that the threat wasn’t so close. “Nothing like that. Those are for paying customers.” </p><p>Bog leaned forward again, an evil glint in his eyes as he stared her down. Marianne tightened her shield but didn’t lean away. She couldn’t distance herself without exposing her plate to Bog. </p><p>“Wonder what your parents would say if I told them what you did to a potential client?” he whispered. </p><p>Gasping, Marianne released her hold just enough for him to snatch the tip of the cone and stuff it in his mouth before she could react. </p><p>Bog grinned around his mouthful, knowing it likely looked gross as he chewed but victorious, he didn’t care. </p><p>Incredible, whether it was five seconds or an hour with this girl—he turned into a ten-year-old. She brought his every childish impulse to the surface. </p><p>“You… You…” the she-demon sputtered, but before she could complete her sentiment, her mother spoke. </p><p>“Oh, isn’t it nice to see both of you getting along so well!” The blonde older woman sighed happily, her head turning to look at Bog and Marianne in turn. </p><p>“I know! They’re even sharing their food!” Griselda added, giving Bog an elbow to the ribs under the table, signaling something that he refused to acknowledge. </p><p>He winced and saw Marianne flinch from her mother at the same time, too. </p><p>Bog pushed his chair back, biting his lip to keep from opening his mouth and saying something he might regret—in front of his parents. There would be no regrets in front of the she-devil. He could save it for later, and he assumed there would be a later. </p><p>Unfortunately, Marianne pushed her chair back simultaneously, and as they stood, they realized they had to head in the same direction—the bathroom. Their eyes met briefly, then they looked away, stalking off to the bathroom together. </p><p>“Why are you following me?” hissed Marianne once they were out of earshot. </p><p>“I’m not following you. I usually wash my hands after I eat,” growled Bog, heading for the men’s bathroom. </p><p>“Normal, civilized people wash their hands before they eat,” Marianne said with a snide expression, then she pushed the door to the bathroom open as hard as she could. There was a scream and a thud. Bog looked over his shoulder to see Marianne with her hands in the air, staring at a plump woman on the floor. It appeared she had run into Marianne and now leaned against the wall. </p><p>“I am so sorry!” Marianne kneeled to help the woman up as Bog ducked into the bathroom, trying to hide his laughter. Served her right for messing with him. Still chuckling, Bog took care of his business, spending a considerable amount of time washing his hands with far too much hand soap. </p><p>By the time Bog left the bathroom, he felt he smelled like a lotus blossom in full bloom, but he washed his hands thoroughly so there wouldn’t be any question or comments. Bog crossed the dining room to see everyone on their feet, grabbing their jackets and things in preparation to leave. </p><p>The woman Marianne had knocked down, stood next to the table, talking to his mother, Mrs. Gold, and Marianne. The conversation didn’t look angry or heated. They were laughing and doing that thing, women often did when in the middle of a good conversation, touching each other on the arm. </p><p>“We had your meals boxed up,” said Bog’s father, motioning to a waiter currently placing Bog’s desert into a little frosted bag with the restaurant’s logo emblazoned on it in red. </p><p>Bog watched as Marianne gave him an impish smile, turning to the table, and without hesitating, she nabbed his bag and slid it into hers, then picked both bags up, </p><p>Not even blinking an eye. She laughed as her mother laughed, the smile spreading over her face going from ear to ear. </p><p>Did she just steal his dessert? Bog’s mouth dropped, and his father grabbed him by the arm, pulling him a few steps from the table. With his back to the table, Cameron leaned toward Bog, his voice lowering into a stern warning tone. “Bog, where are your manners tonight?” </p><p>“She—” Bog began, then saw the warning look from his mother. He took a deep breath, deciding to let it go for now. “I’m tired from all the moving, Dad. I’m sorry. Can we go now? I want to get a good night’s sleep.” </p><p>“Fine. Fine. We’re on our way out anyway.” Cameron reached around Bog to pull him around and make him face the same direction. “That woman is Mrs. Marchand, and she owns several businesses in town. She’s looking for investment properties and is interested in our mall project. Lucky thing that Marianne ran into her, literally.” </p><p>Bog nodded, grimacing inside that he had laughed at her mishap. “Yeah, I saw that.” </p><p>“Well, she knows the Golds and would like to get to know us too. She’s invited us to all to a party she’s throwing for investors and businessmen, and that includes you.” Cameron continued his conversation. “It’s tomorrow evening, and we’re going to go together.” </p><p>“Dad,” groaned Bog. “You know how much I hate those things!” </p><p>“You will go, and you will behave,” ordered Cameron. “You’re nineteen. I shouldn’t have to remind you to do things like this. There might even be opportunities for you there. Your brother would never turn down an opportunity to make contacts. That’s why he’s so successful at such a young age.” </p><p>Bog frowned, lowering his head as the words hit their mark. His evening had been bad enough, but to have Heath’s success thrown at him was the final dagger that finished him off. </p><p>“Can I get the car, Dad?” Bog held out his hand, looking for a way to escape, and Cameron fished the tag out of his pocket and gave it to him. </p><p>“We’ll be out in a few minutes.” His father clapped him on the shoulder several times, but it did little to ease his dour mood. At least he would be out of that awful witch’s presence shortly. </p><p>### </p><p>“I can’t believe there’s something wrong with our car.” David laughed, sliding into the front passenger seat of the Thorne’s SUV. </p><p>“It happens.” Cameron grinned at his friend. “But we’re going to the same place, so no worries.” </p><p>Marianne sat as far from Bog as she could, her bag of looted desserts sitting on her lap. Her mother and Bog’s mother took the middle seat, leaving the rear seat for her and Bog. He said nothing as he went to the back seat and sulked against the window. </p><p>Bog didn’t notice Marianne slip her phone out of her purse—his attention solidly focused on the window and the busy downtown streets passing by. Taking a chance, Marianne took a single photo as quickly as she could and sent it to her sister. </p><p>-This is the guy! I still can’t believe he’s Mom and Dad’s friend’s son. </p><p>-He’s kinda cute. </p><p>-NO, he is not cute! And stay away from him, Dawn! </p><p>-Hmm… You’ll look cute together. He looks nice and tall… </p><p>-Ugh, why do you do this to me? </p><p>-Because you texted me while I’m out with my friends, and it’s Friday night, and you need to get a life. </p><p>-I’m coming home from dinner, what more do you want? </p><p>-With a bunch of old, stuffy people? Marianne! That guy is the only one your age. Come on. You know you want to! </p><p>-I SO do not want to. And he’s younger than me too. He’s nineteen! </p><p>-Come onnnnn….. It’s only one year. Kissy kissy! </p><p>-UGH, I’m going. </p><p>-Good! The movie is just getting to the good part! Love you, byyyye! </p><p>With a silent grumble, Marianne took one more discreet photo before sliding her phone into her pocket. Then she stared at the bag on her lap. A small smile crept over her face as she opened it, reaching inside to open the box on top—the box containing Bog’s dessert. </p><p>She daintily removed a dumpling, holding it between her thumb and forefinger, holding it out as though she was examining it. She turned it slowly, keeping it just below the headrest in front of her so nobody could see what she was doing—except Bog. </p><p>The creamy white dumpling reflected in the glass on the window, and she saw his eyes move, staring at it. Smiling, she tipped the dumpling toward her mouth and took a tiny bite, then sighed, slowly savoring it, putting on a show for Bog. Marianne took another bite, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He glared at her through the window’s reflection, refusing to turn around. </p><p>He was so easy to tease! It was effortless to make those blue orbs burn with malice. Marianne grinned and could hardly close her mouth enough to take the next bite. </p><p>While she chewed the third bite, Bog caved, turning his head to stare narrow-eyed at the half-eaten dumpling in her hand. Marianne pretended not to notice, humming softly at the sweet taste in her mouth. </p><p>“Marianne?” </p><p>She choked, the bite she was about to swallow got stuck in her throat, and hurriedly, she coughed around it, trying not to open her mouth and dribble all over her dress. </p><p>A surprised guffaw rose from the other side of the seat, and Marianne flushed a patchy red, still coughing, her eyes watering. </p><p>“Honey, are you okay?” Her mother’s green-blue eyes were wide and worried, looking at her from over the seat in front. Still unable to speak, Marianne waved her off, her shoulders rising as she cleared her throat. </p><p>“Okay…” Irene still looked dubious but continued with the original intent. “I was just telling Cameron here about the upcoming competition you’re hosting.” </p><p>Wheezing, Marianne managed to squeak out an inquisitive, “Oh?” </p><p>“Yeah, and he said…” Irene turned her head back to the front, addressing the tall, imposing businessman at the wheel with familiar ease. “What was it again, Cam?” </p><p>Through her tears, Marianne caught the smiling blue eyes in the back mirror. “I told your mother I used to like playing arcade games when I was young. Do you have any in your store?” </p><p>“WHAT?!” </p><p>The shocked exclamation came from Bog. All residues of the shit-eating grin he had plastered on at Marianne’s misfortune vanished in a quick second. “You… You used to play video games, Dad?” </p><p>“I wasn’t born fifty, Bog.” Cameron replied coldly, his stern voice softened by the smile on his face. </p><p>“Yes, but…” Marianne tried not to laugh at Bog’s confused expression. Parents are people too! </p><p>“I bet I could beat you, Son.” </p><p>Instantly, as if the challenge included a white glove thrown in his face, Bog’s surprise melted away to reveal an eager light. “Wanna make this interesting?” </p><p>“Don’t you two start again!” Griselda piped up, and Marianne heard the sound of her hands slapping her legs after she’d thrown them in the air. </p><p>“I don’t know what you mean, dear wife of mine,” Cameron said, twisting to look back as they reached a red light, grinning impishly. </p><p>Even from her seat in the back, Marianne saw the glare Griselda sent her husband’s way, making him smile wider. </p><p>“Watch the road, you!” she muttered, her lips twitching, struggling to keep the scowl on her face. </p><p>“Whoops!” Cameron turned back, sending the car forward with a gentle jolt when he saw the light turned green. </p><p>“You have to give them a frown, now and then, yunno?” Griselda leaned over to Marianne’s mother, whispering under her breath. </p><p>Irene giggled girlishly and whispered something back that Marianne didn’t hear. </p><p>Her smile wide and entertained at the older couple’s antics, Marianne’s eyes slid over to Bog, where he had covered his face with his hands, grumbling, and mumbling. </p><p>“What’s wrong with you now?” she asked quietly without thinking, genuinely curious at his behavior. His parents were clearly in a happy marriage. Surely he ought to be glad about it? Marianne knew too many kids with broken or separated homes. While two Christmases sounded fun, it couldn’t be easy to have parents that fought with each other, rather than the sweet banter between Griselda and Cameron. </p><p>Bog peeked between his long fingers, a sneer disappearing when he saw Marianne didn’t mean to tease him this time. </p><p>“You don’t know them,” he groaned, leaning his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes, and exposing the long expanse of his throat to Marianne. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and unconsciously, she mirrored his gulp. “They’re going to be impossible for the next two days, now.” </p><p>“Impossible? But they’re not figh—” Marianne glanced to the front of the car, catching a smoldering look that wasn’t aimed at her. Cameron stared at his still giggling wife like a wolf. “Oh.” </p><p>“Oh, my god, it’s started.” Bog covered his face again. </p><p>After a loud, deep bellied laugh at Bog’s dismay, Marianne shoved the entire remaining dumpling into her mouth, chuckling as she chewed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hahahahah... oh the joy that is arguing teenagers over dumb things. :D Where are we going from here?!  Comments are lovely! They encourage us to write!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. B is for Bardis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At the end of a very long day, Bog and Marianne intend to get a good night sleep, but a forgotten item sends Marianne out to get assistance from a very grumpy neighbor boy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bog landed on his bed with a hollow thud and quickly covered himself with the warm duvet, rolling like a burrito until he was tightly wrapped within the large expanse of the blanket. He was tired and weary from the long day. The whole family had woken bright and early at six in the morning to prepare for the move.</p><p>Still in his cocoon, Bog grumbled to himself. That girl was utterly insane. From her hellish customer service to the footsie play she started in front of both their parents, ending in the food theft. She was just his own personal demon taunting him.</p><p>And now, he lives across the hall from her. And what made it worse was the fact she was so utterly, world-shatteringly gorgeous. In that black lace dress that hugged her curves, the wild hair and dark lipstick, her luminous light brown eyes… She was stupid hot.</p><p>Maybe she’s a succubus—the thought popped into his mind. A sadistic she-demon that enjoyed tormenting people. Frankly, there was little else that explained her behavior. Bog knew he should stay far, far away from Marianne—as far as living and working in the same place would allow—but he plotted to give her a taste of her own medicine.</p><p>There had to be some way he could get his sweet revenge, but until the day of payback came, Bog had more immediate concerns. He had to concentrate on the bet with his father.</p><p>After an awkward ride up in the elevator, standing as far from Marianne as he could, and an even more awkward moment where his parents half-discreetly waited for him to leave the living room so they could do… whatever they were going to do… he went to his room to do some unpacking before bed.</p><p>Three stacks of boxes, four boxes high, lined the far wall. Bog began sorting through them, wanting to empty at least one box before showering and went to bed. He found his pj’s, shower stuff, and sketch-pad in the box he put aside for the first few nights. </p><p>He looked around his bedroom, sighed, then gathered his things and went into the bathroom he shared with the empty bedroom next to his. Heath’s belongings would be unpacked into it, a home away from home when he visited. Their set of rooms had four bedrooms and two and a half baths, an open plan living room and kitchen with a massive kitchen island bar with stools set beneath the counter. There was a formal dining room for family gatherings and a study for his father.</p><p>They shared a wraparound deck with the Gold’s on the outside of their new home. He hadn’t been outside yet, but his mother had. Both she and Irene had an outside office shed set up on opposite ends of the deck. Doubtless, his mother had decked hers out into a private mediation room, and it was full of candles and crystals and what-nots.</p><p>Bog grumbled, preparing for his shower, stripping out of his clothing, and ridding himself of the strong smell of Chinese food that lingered on them. His thoughts went back to Marianne as he wriggled his toes into the thick, far too soft bath mat. It wasn’t a good idea to think about her, and he knew it, but his mind was not cooperating.</p><p>Cold shower.</p><p>It would be just the shock he needed. All thoughts of Marianne vanished when he turned on the water and stepped inside, shivering violently and resisting the urge to jump back out. Quickly he washed his hair, deciding that’s all he wanted to do for the time being. Sudsing up with soap would be more comfortable in warm water, and it took too much time.</p><p>Bog shivered when he left the shower, grabbing the closest towel… only there wasn’t one. He swore at the empty towel rod for a moment, realizing that, of course, he packed all the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, body wash, shaving foam, and razor, but not a towel.</p><p>He stood outside the shower, also realizing he just had to walk through the door to get to his bedroom. Water would drip everywhere, but it was a small inconvenience. Unless… There were three doors in the bathroom. One led to his room, one to Heath’s room, and the third to the hall. He pushed the door to the hall open a crack, listening for his parents.</p><p>The door hit something on the floor, and he looked down, sighing in relief that his mother had left a pile of towels and washcloths there for him. Finally, something went his way. Bog pushed the door open, grabbing for the stack, and smacked his head on the doorknob. A flash of white seared through his head, momentarily blinding him, followed by stars.</p><p>Groaning, he stepped back into the bathroom, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched the towels to his chest. Today was just not his day.</p><p>“Ugh,” moaned Marianne, sinking into a giant leather beanbag chair in her room. The lights were out, and she stared at the ceiling fan rotating slowly overhead. Of course, the annoying guy from that morning had to end up being her parents’ business partners’ son. Why not?</p><p>It was just the icing to top off an awful morning. One of the unreliable high schoolers quit without calling in. Well, he didn’t actually quit, but she fired him for not calling in. She had given that kid a chance, and he blew it. Now she was short an employee and had a video game tournament to host over the weekend.</p><p>Marianne groaned, throwing her head against the back of the beanbag. She laid there, biting at her lower lip in frustration as the mental image of Bog’s rear filled her thoughts. When he kneeled, it was a thing of beauty, nice, perfectly shaped… He’s the enemy.</p><p>Stop thinking about his butt.</p><p>Don’t think about his back.</p><p>No lingering on how nice his shoulders look.</p><p>And especially, stop seeing his eyes.</p><p>There were a few times during dinner when Bog’s angry façade vanished, and he looked normal. Like any other guy she might encounter in public or college. And he didn’t just look normal. There were strange expressions on his face when she glanced up and caught him looking at her.</p><p>Uncertainty?</p><p>Curiosity?</p><p>Wonder?</p><p>Bog’s face did not fit his actions, and the moment her eyes met his, they darkened, and his lip curled up in a sneer. He made faces at her--like he was ten. And despite how annoyed she was, he almost got her to laugh.</p><p>Marianne had turned her face to her plate, shoveling food into her mouth so fast, she almost choked. She could not give him a single hint that she was amused. It was childish! He made faces at her!</p><p>A giggle escaped, and Marianne ran the back of her hand over her eyes, the memory making her want to laugh again. Bog was a ridiculous teenager. Never mind that she had been a teenager less than a year prior. He was ridiculous!</p><p>Marianne’s thoughts were interrupted when her phone buzzed. It was all the way on the nightstand next to her bed. It was only a few feet away, but she didn’t want to move. She remained in the beanbag.</p><p>The phone stopped buzzing, then immediately began buzzing and beeping, meaning she had a text and another incoming phone call.</p><p>If someone was trying that hard to get a hold of her, it might be important. Marianne reluctantly rolled out of the beanbag and grabbed her phone.</p><p>A moment later, she scowled, reading a text message that read: Found your wallet under your table. We’re holding it for you.</p><p>Marianne sighed, tapping the number that had just called. The restaurant answered, and after checking the hours they were open, she told them she would be there shortly to pick it up. The key to her store was in that wallet, and she couldn’t open in the morning without the key. Now, there was only one problem.</p><p>She didn’t have a car and it felt like a waste of money to get a cab. Grumbling, Marianne cleared the clothes she’d tossed onto her vanity mirror out of the way, so she could see how she looked. Her makeup was still intact, hair a little mussed, and she had changed clothes, tossing on a baggy crop-top she’d cut out of an old favorite Wonder-Woman hoodie—it reached her navel, and had ripped sleeves—and high waisted washed-out jean shorts. Lastly, she slid her feet into simple black flip-flops, glad she’d painted her toenails the night before.</p><p>“Mom?” Marianne called out once she left her room, armed with her brown crossbody bag and phone at hand. “Dad?”</p><p>The was silence across the apartment—only the ticking of the large wall clock in the living room made any noise.</p><p>“Mom? Dad?” She walked over to her parent’s suite, knocking on the door softly. It was too early for them to be asleep, but they might have gone back out again, perhaps to one of the bars in the outdoor restaurant area of the mall.</p><p>Groaning out loud at her situation’s unfairness, Marianne brought out her phone from her back-pocket, calling her mother.</p><p>The loud ringing coming from the kitchen confirmed her suspicions--Irene left her phone behind. And next to it was David’s phone too.</p><p>“Oh, come on!” Marianne yelled at the inanimate objects, venting her frustration. Who was she supposed to turn to, now? There was… no one… else…?</p><p>But there was. As of that morning, she had neighbors. And better yet, they were close friends to her parents. If she asked nicely enough, perhaps Cameron or Griselda would be willing to drive Marianne over to the restaurant as a favor for a daughter of a friend.</p><p>Setting an open, friendly expression on her face, Marianne left her apartment, locking the door behind her to cross the hall to the other penthouse, now marked with a lovely new sign--The Thornes--engraved on mahogany, beautifully carved with a family crest of vines and briars. At a closer look, the sign wasn’t as new as first thought, sporting the velvety softness of aged wood, darkened with the years in its crevices.</p><p>The doorbell rang, and Marianne heard it echo across the house. She waited, and there was no answer at first. Ringing it again and shuffling from foot to foot in discomfort, she finally heard a voice coming from behind the door. It was rough and hoarse and did not sound pleased in the least at the nightly intruder.</p><p>Before panic took over, and Marianne could flee back home, the door opened. Her eyes went to the floor, rising with growing horror, settling on the first thing she saw--long, long legs. Marianne swallowed, her gaze reaching a pair of boxers, grey with alternating with a black and white skull and crossbones pattern.</p><p>And Marianne stared in surprise and not wanting to look any further because she was sure it wasn’t Cameron who answered the door. No, it was Bog, and the last thing she wanted to do was to verify it was him.</p><p>“Oh, it’s you,” grumbled Bog, causing Marianne to lift her head quickly. He yawned, scratching the top of his head as though he had just been deeply asleep. “What do you want?” Bog blinked at her, his blue eyes bleary but still shining brightly in the shadowed recesses of his face.</p><p>“We came back less than an hour ago!” Marianne blurted, forgetting all about the friendliness she set out to show. “You can’t have been that deeply asleep!” Annoyance at the reaction Bog’s half-naked appearance incited coloring her words, making her tone snappier.</p><p>Bog’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What?”</p><p>“I…!” Fumbling for words and trying to keep the blush off her face, Marianne continued quickly. “I dropped my wallet back at the restaurant. Canyoudrivemethereplease?”</p><p>“what?” He looked even more confused and leaned his head on the open door, squinting his eyes as though suddenly wondering if he was dreaming.</p><p>“I asked—” Taking a deep, steadying breath, she tried to focus. “Can you drive me there, please?”</p><p>Bog stared, his lip curled in a sneer. “What?”</p><p>Gritting her teeth, Marianne repeated her request a third time, emphasizing the please with a growl.</p><p>“You want me to drive you?” he kept up the stupid expression, looking incredulous.</p><p>“You know what?” she snapped. “Forget about it.” she turned away, rummaging in her purse to pull the house keys out again. Before she made it to the door, a hand gripped her arm lightly.</p><p>“No, wait!”</p><p>“Let go of me now.” Marianne turned back slowly, facing Bog again.</p><p>He released her arm and lifted his hands in front of himself in a placating gesture. “No, I mean… I can take you.”</p><p>She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of the sudden change of heart.</p><p>“No, seriously, just… let me just grab my keys and a t-shirt, okay?” He offered a strained smile, motioning for her to come inside.</p><p>Marianne looked at him suspiciously. Had he turned into a normal person, or was this just the sleep talking? Whichever it was, she didn’t have much of a choice, and she knew it. Bog turned his back, shuffling into the hall, and she followed, rubbing one hand over the other nervously.</p><p>He said nothing, leading her through a massive apartment with a very different floorplan than the one her parents chose. Marianne had been inside when it was under construction, and looked very different. The moving boxes stacked in every room made it difficult to tell what each room was, the boxes hiding most of the furniture.</p><p>Bog vanished into a doorway, and Marianne followed him without thinking. He mumbled as he began digging through a box, tossing piles of clothing on his unmade bed. Marianne watched, biting her lower lip, a light flush spreading over her face. With a triumphant grunt, Bog found what he was looking for and pulled out a faded maroon t-shirt with a worn indy rock band logo on the front.</p><p>Marianne stared at him from the back, licking her lips as he pulled it on clumsily. He was still a little out of it, but she got a good view of his backside, one which she committed to memory. Bog grabbed a set of keys off the top of his dresser along with his phone, which he dropped into one of his pockets.</p><p>“Let’s go.” He yawned, heading for the door.</p><p>“Barefoot?” Marianne questioned, knitting her brows together.</p><p>“I’m not getting out,” grunted Bog, glancing over his shoulder. “You want me to drive, I’ll drive. I’m not going in with you.”</p><p>Marianne grimaced and nodded. “Right. Uh.” She sighed. “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”</p><p>“You can walk. That’s a choice.” Bog didn’t look at her, leading her back through the penthouse.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>B was a kind-of restored classic 1980’s Volkswagen beetle. Her coat was lime green, but Bog had spent many hours decorating the driver’s side in a modern-day interpretation of the ‘Mystery Machine’ from Scooby-Doo. It was an ode to a simpler time, and a childhood spent with parents who never quite grew up. Despite his father’s suits and ties, he was as much of a ‘flower child’ at heart as his mother.</p><p>Bog ignored Marianne’s reaction to his car, which was honestly the reaction of just about everyone who saw it. They stared at it, then at him, and they looked away. He didn’t care. It was his baby, and even in its rough state, he loved it.</p><p>Had it been anyone else, Bog might have been inclined to apologize for the state of the interior—namely the discarded balls of paper, empty coffee cans, and other miscellaneous trash. But as it was Marianne, he told himself that it did not matter in the slightest how cluttered it looked.</p><p>Even if she did look adorable in that cut-off hoodie and shorts.</p><p>No, no, it didn’t matter.</p><p>But that Wonder-Woman print was a classic, from the original comic.</p><p>Nope, stay away.</p><p>And her hair all mussed up like that, and her little toes that he glimpsed while riding the elevator down to the resident’s private garage, where B was parked, painted a sparkly purple. He ignored the security guard at the entry, eyeing them as they passed.</p><p>Bog started regretting leaving the house just in the boxers. This could get very awkward, very quickly. He reminded himself that Marianne was evil, and the only reason he was doing this was to maintain good relations between their families. If Cameron had heard Marianne showed up needing help at night and Bog refused her, he would likely get yelled at and punished for being unnecessarily rude.</p><p>Yep, that is the only reason Bog was doing this.</p><p>It had nothing to do with how her butt looked in those shorts when she turned around. The gap between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her shorts left nothing to the imagination, showing off the smooth lines of her exposed back and stomach. He did his best to avert his eyes and not let her catch him staring.</p><p>Nothing to do with that at all.</p><p>The old beetle beeped, not too far from the elevator doors. The underground musty smell that seemed to appear in parking garages magically woke Bog up a little more, and he realized just what he agreed to.</p><p>“Hmm,” Marianne made the first noise since they left the penthouse, looking at the squat, green vehicle. “Cute car, but, how do you fit that—” she gestured first to Bog’s legs, then swung her hand to point at B’s front—“in there?”</p><p>“It’s bigger than it looks,” he retorted, feeling himself get defensive. B was his baby. Bog was not about to tolerate any slights to her honor.</p><p>“Is it… Bigger on the inside?” she said, her lips twitching in amusement, and her large brown eyes sparkled.</p><p>She’s evil!</p><p>Bog unlocked the doors and opened the driver’s side, folding himself down into the seat, realizing far too late that the passenger seat and driver’s seat were placed flush against each other. His and Marianne’s shoulders would bump together for the entire ride.</p><p>He wondered if it would be rude to ask her to sit at the back, but it would be admitting weakness in the face of the enemy. That and the interior of the car had been modified to give him more legroom. There wasn’t enough space in the backseat. Playing it cool was the only way forward, from that point.</p><p>“Yep, and my name is Doctor Bog. Welcome to the Bardis,” he deadpanned.</p><p>Marianne giggled in surprise, the sound and sight cutting through Bog’s calm façade. He grinned back but bit his lip quickly to mask his smile.</p><p>“Bardis?” Marianne cocked her head to the side, a strand of her purple-dyed hair falling to her eye.</p><p>EVIL WOMAN.</p><p>“Y… yeah. Tardis and B combined, making it Bardis.” He waved a hand in the small space as Marianne entered the car butt first.</p><p>Stop looking!</p><p>“Its name is B?” she asked after settling into her seat, looking around with far more interest than he expected.</p><p>“It’s a she, actually. And yes, her name is B.”</p><p>“B for Beetle?”</p><p>“Uh… Yes. B for Beetle.”</p><p>“Cute,” she said, turning around to search for the seatbelt, her rump brushing Bog’s leg lightly.</p><p>“OH, um…” Bog jumped, trying to look as though the small contact on his skin wasn’t electric. “The seatbelt is actually beside the seat. There isn’t a chest strap.”</p><p>“Okay,” Marianne said, shifting to sit forward again, putting her hand down to reach for the buckle.</p><p>Bog strapped in and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield. He didn’t want to watch her—it was so awkward—so he waited for the click of the belt before starting the car, imagining horrible, terrible things to subdue his rapidly beating heart.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The day just won't end!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Never Ending Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marianne's wallet-retrieval-mission hits a snag.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay, I got it,” Marianne said, after opening B’s door and sliding into the car. Bog had his head leaning back on the headrest of his seat, his eyes glazed. The sight of his sleepiness was both entertaining and alarming. How was he supposed to drive them back safely if he was that tired?</p><p>A sound very much like a snore came from Bog, further raising her concerns. “Bog.” His head lolled to one side, and he snored again. “Bog!” She pushed him on the shoulder, slamming him against the door. Bog jerked awake, throwing his arms out in shock, catching Marianne in the chin. She recoiled, snarling, “Bog!”</p><p>He turned and blinked at her like he had seen her for the first time. Then recognition flashed over his face, and he ran the back of his hand over his eyes.</p><p>“I got it,” said Marianne, rubbing her chin and glaring at him for probably leaving a bruise. It stung.</p><p>“Good. Now you’re done, I can go home and get some decent sleep,” Bog hissed, furrowing his brows at her.</p><p>She ignored the grumpy attitude as a goodwill gesture since the source of his grumpiness was her fault. But now, with her wallet, store keys, and most relevant, the learner’s permit, there was a choice to be made. </p><p>“Hey, you want me to drive?” Marianne asked.</p><p>Bog turned slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching as though she had just asked for his firstborn. “You look really tired. That’s all. It might be safer.”</p><p>Bog didn’t say anything, turning the key in the ignition. The engine rolled over and didn’t start the first time. Bog slapped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, swearing at it. The next turn brought it to sputtering life.</p><p>Twenty minutes home. That’s all it would take. Marianne began rolling her lower lip beneath her teeth, turning to look out the window. This would be a long twenty minutes.</p><p>###</p><p>Bog fought his eyelids, the lights blurring as he drove. The traffic wasn’t as heavy as it had been on to the restaurant. He had been driving for five minutes when his eyes closed of their own accord, and he began drifting forward. ‘</p><p>“Bog!” Marianne shouted, grabbing the wheel. He woke and jerked the wheel the other direction, and for a brief moment, he saw headlights blaring through the front windshield. Marianne jerked the wheel back, and the car swung back into the right lane and on into the grassy shoulder with a tremendous clatter, dying as it came to a stop.</p><p>Then there were lights everywhere, brilliant red and blue lights flashing over the entire car. Bog’s hands clenched the wheel, knuckles turning white from how hard he held it. He was fully awake now, panic rising like a tidal wave.</p><p>“Bog?” Marianne shook his shoulder, glancing out the back window. A policeman’s silhouette appeared in the flashing lights. “Where’s your insurance card? Driver’s license? Get it out? Bog!” She grabbed his arm, pinching him hard.</p><p>“Ow!” Bog yelped, jerking his arm away from her and pushing her away. “That hurt!” He rubbed his arm, and then the officer knocked on the window, making him jump, smacking his knees on the steering wheel. “No, no, no,” whined Bog, glancing at Marianne helplessly. “I’ve never been stopped in my life!”</p><p>He rolled down the window, breathing fast, panic fully setting in as his heart pounded erratically. He peered through the window, giving the officer a confused look, his mouth hanging open.</p><p>“Proof of insurance and ID?” the officer asked, peering inside the car. “Have you been drinking?”</p><p>“No, sir, he’s just tired!” Marianne leaned over, sliding her arms around Bog’s shoulders. He froze, unsure of what she was up to. “This is all my fault! He was being a gentleman and took me to pick up my wallet at the China Palace. I got him out of bed since I don’t have a car.”</p><p>“Proof of insurance and ID,” repeated the officer.</p><p>Bog reached up to flip the visor down and remove a sheet of folded paper. He handed it over, then leaned forward, smacking his forehead on the steering wheel with a groan. “I left my wallet at home.”</p><p>“Step out of the car, please.” The officer took a step back to allow Bog to open the door. Bog moaned, doing as he was told, stepping out with his bare feet on the gravel.</p><p>“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” The officer glanced at Bog’s feet, then gave him a stern glare. “Where are your shoes?”</p><p>“I was just driving,” mumbled Bog in response, giving the officer a plaintive look. He began rambling, speaking fast, “I took her to get her wallet, and now we’re going home. I have not had anything to drink. I was exhausted, but I’m wide awake now.”</p><p>“Stay here,” commanded the officer, walking back to his car.</p><p>“No, no, no,” Bog began wringing his hands, twisting his fingers.</p><p>“It’ll be okay,” whispered Marianne from the driver’s seat. “You aren’t drunk, and you were doing me a favor.”</p><p>“You be quiet,” snapped Bog, glancing inside the car. “This is all your fault. I was all fine and asleep, and you just had to knock on the door!”</p><p>“Do you know your driver’s license number?’ The officer returned with a pad of paper. Bog told him the number, almost whining in distress by the time he finished.</p><p>Suddenly, Marianne was outside the car, walking around to grab Bog around the waist, bursting into tears.</p><p>“This is all my fault!” she wailed as Bog stumbled back against his car. He froze, tossing a frightened look at the officer as Marianne began lightly clawing at his shirt. “I’m so sorry!”</p><p>“Ma’am, please get back in the car.” The officer frowned at the, looking from Marianne to Bog, then back again.</p><p>“Officer.” Marianne turned, running the back of her hand over her eyes. “This is all my fault.”</p><p>The officer scowled, turning to return to his car, shaking his head.</p><p>“What are you doing?” hissed Bog, stepping away from her. His foot landed on a sharp rock, and he jerked it off the ground, the other foot landing on another rock. He hissed again, trying to find a safe place to stand.</p><p>“Trying to get you out of a ticket, you ungrateful moron,” snapped Marianne, narrowing her eyes at him.</p><p>Bog set his mouth into a thin line, glaring at her. This was her fault. There was no way he would come out of this owing her for anything.</p><p>The officer returned, handing Bog his papers, then he turned to Marianne. “Driver’s License?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t have one.” Marianne clasped her hands behind her back, working the situation with sniffles. “That’s why I had to have him drive me. I have a learner’s permit, but it expired six months ago.” She brought out her wallet, prepared for the question, and opened it to hand the officer her card.</p><p>The officer frowned, looking from one to the other. “Look, I’m not interested in ruining a couple of kid’s night, so you,” he pointed at Marianne, “are going to drive, and I’m following you home to have a conversation with your parents.”</p><p>Bog shot Marianne a nasty look, growling as he stumbled around the car, trying not to react to the sharp rocks underfoot.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” sniffled Marianne.</p><p>“Are you okay to drive?” The officer sighed as he regarded her.</p><p>“Oh, yes, I’m better now,” she replied, turning to look at Bog with a smile he didn’t trust. He grumbled, not wanting to even look at her as he got into the passenger side and pulled his seatbelt over his lap. Marianne slid into the driver’s seat, pulling the seatbelt over her lap, then she turned the key. Bog wished desperately that it wouldn’t start. It was his car. It needed to be loyal to him.</p><p>It started the first time.</p><p>###</p><p>Bog and Marianne stood behind the officer as he spoke to their parents. They had all been drinking, and it didn’t help the situation. Bog retrieved his driver’s license to prove he had one, and Marianne stood with her parents.</p><p>“You need to upgrade the seatbelts in that death trap,” said the officer with a scowl, addressing Cameron and Griselda. “And really, he’s nineteen. He should know to keep his license on him at all times and,” the officer took a deep breath, giving Bog a withering look, “wear shoes when you drive. It’s a safety hazard, and I should write you up for that one alone.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” muttered Bog, staring at the floor, wriggling his toes at the comment. Little cuts and scrapes covered the sides of them.</p><p>“I’m letting them go with a verbal warning,” said the officer, looking at Bog, who looked back beneath his brows, then Marianne, who put on the most innocent face she could manage. “And you.” He frowned at Marianne. “Get a driver’s license, at least for emergencies.”</p><p>Marianne nodded, glancing at her parents.</p><p>“We’re sorry for the trouble,” said Marianne’s father apologetically. “She didn’t want to bother us.”</p><p>The officer stared at the slightly inebriated parents, who were shifting about uncomfortably. “I understand—just don’t let it happen again.”</p><p>Bog’s feet stung, but not as much as the shame in being pulled over and brought home by a police officer. The blonde idiot at the entry point downstairs snickered at them as he waved them through the lobby. The conversation over, the two families parted, going into their own homes without a word.</p><p>Griselda patted Bog’s back gently, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”</p><p>“I got pulled over, and I was exhausted,” said Bog with a groan, running a hand over his forehead and into his hair.</p><p>“Wasn’t the best judgment.” Cameron shrugged. “But your heart was in the right place.”</p><p>Bog sighed heavily, thinking for a moment that his heart might have been somewhere far off from his chest—most definitely not in the right place. Hopefully, he was just tired and not really finding that awful, horrendous, manipulative vixen of a woman across the hall attractive. He saw her in action, and it was a thing of beauty—if he hadn’t been the one in the middle of her ploy. She was just a pretty face, and he had a choice in what he liked, especially since it didn’t matter, did it? This wasn’t a multiple-choice test. There were two answers—no and hell no.</p><p>“Let’s get your feet cleaned up, and I’ll put some liquid bandages on them,” clucked Griselda, eyeing her son’s feet, which were leaving little smudges of dirt and blood on the clean floor.</p><p>“Honestly, Bog, it was nice of you to help Marianne,” said Cameron, walking after them. “I know you’re old enough to come and go as you please, but let us know next time, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, Dad.” Bog grimaced, the mild correction stinging more than the cuts on his feet. He should have known better, but he was too tired to even think of letting his parents know. He was old enough to be an adult but still made embarrassing choices. Thankfully, his parents were understanding.</p><p>Bog ground his jaw, his thoughts on tomorrow, and what he would do to make sure that, first of all, he did not owe Marianne. Second, he’d embarrass her to a point she’d leave him alone. Third, if he wanted to come into her store, he would.</p><p>###</p><p>Did she feel at least a little bad?</p><p>Yes, she did.</p><p>Marianne apologized to her parents for not trying to find them a little harder. Part of her had suspicions about what she would see if she did. Her parents wore large plush robes and smelled of alcohol, which meant they were probably lounging out on the balcony doing the ridiculous moon bathing they did on occasion, per Griselda’s advice.</p><p>She walked in on them doing that once, and just the once was enough. Nobody wanted to see their parents naked, laying out under the moonlight—especially not if someone else’s parents were also there, and she just knew that’s what they had been doing. It was weird, and she wanted no part of it.</p><p>Parents.</p><p>They could be so embarrassing, and her parents were no exception. They didn’t buy into everything Griselda told them, and Marianne suspected they just enjoyed laying out under the moon more than the sun since there wasn’t likely as much of a chance of developing skin cancer from it.</p><p>Marianne walked past her parents without another word, retreating to her room. She heard music coming from her sister’s room in passing and smiled. Dawn laughed that adorable little laugh she had when she talked on the phone with a good friend. She had probably had a much better night than Marianne.</p><p>Alone in her room, Marianne quickly dressed, weariness overcoming her in a crashing wave. She yawned, slipping into her neatly made bed with its rainbow punk unicorn on the cover against a rainbow studded sky, and pulled it tight around her, smiling.</p><p>Mmmm…</p><p>She licked her lips at a sudden thought that she had momentarily enjoyed running her hands up the front of Bog’s shirt because she could feel him beneath it, shivering in terror. He was pleasantly warm and solid despite his slim frame.</p><p>The look on his face.</p><p>Why did that send a strange thrill in her and a smile spreading wider on her face? He was annoying but also very cute with a challenging air about him that made her want to break through it and tear it apart. She could send him into chaos with a smile, and she knew it. He didn’t hate her, he liked her, and all that grumpiness he put on display was put on for her benefit.</p><p>Right?</p><p>Or was she imagining it? Nah, Mr. Looks-good-enough-to-eat-in-jeans had no interest in her, and she probably terrified him. Not that she was looking for a boyfriend. Having a boyfriend would be a distraction from her goals, and she didn’t need that.</p><p>Still, he had those pretty eyes, framed with long black eyelashes. Marianne smiled, thinking about the few brief glimpses of his eyes she had managed. The azure depths of his eyes drew her into the fact there was much more within him than he showed.</p><p>But, it was probably just her imagination, and those thoughts would fade after a while. Bog was a selfish brat as far as she was concerned, an immature child who had shown her who he was right upfront. Anything else she saw in him was just her wishful thinking.</p><p>It wasn’t real.</p><p>Marianne closed her eyes, still smiling as she tried to rid her mind futilely of the day’s memories of Bog, even how much he annoyed her when they first met. Tomorrow would be interesting, to say the least.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A little slow in getting this one up, but it's up now! ENJOY!<br/>A comment would be nice. We both really enjoy comments and wow.. five chapters without a single one is a long run. Just an 'enjoying this' is great!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Revenge is a Dish Sweetly Served... Not Worn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bog has ideas on how to put Marianne in her place and he puts his plan into action.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The supermarket was packed. People of all ages went to and fro. Kids ran amok with the adults chasing after them. There were no carts available—nor was Bog looking for one. He had one item and one item only to buy in the store: the biggest, fattest bag of candy he could lay his hands on. </p><p>It just may clear his entire bank account, but if anything was worth it, it was this. </p><p>Revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge. Literal sweet and sickly vengeance. Since the moment Marianne had entered his life, everything had gone wrong for Bog. </p><p>Just earlier that morning, he got up, groggy and way too late, to grab a cup of coffee from the machine in the kitchen, and had to witness a scene straight out of a horror movie. </p><p>Bog refused to think about what his parents were doing in the communal space and plowed through the crowds even more viciously than before, holding a paper cup of takeaway coffee in one hand while the other held one of the last shopping baskets the store boasted. </p><p>Still hazy, he wandered the unfamiliar supermarket, looking for the junk food aisle, when he saw the beginning of the Halloween decorations on the shelves. Among the scarecrows, witches (one looked eerily like Marianne, and he was half tempted to get it if only he could afford it) and skeletons were plastic treat or treat pumpkins. </p><p>A grin spread on Bog's face as he took in the sight of the bright orange containers. They would be a perfect way to deliver the candy he had in mind for the she-devil. </p><p>Half an hour later, Bog had a mere ten dollars left in his checking account according to his app and a plastic pumpkin so heavy and full of the cheapest candy he could find, he had to cradle it in his arms as the handle would break under the weight. </p><p>The cute, eighteen or so years old looking cashier gave him a tired and confused look, gazing at him with a slight sneer. Bog grinned in response to her vacant "have a nice day", and she blinked, shaking her head. </p><p>He made his way, far more awake and gleeful than he felt before he entered the supermarket, across the mall. Taking a break by the kids' club, Bog sat at the one free seat on a bench and turned around, peeking in. </p><p>A middle-aged woman walked around between them differently aged children. Most of them sat on the thick, moss-like carpeted on the floor, playing some kind of singing and dancing game. Some older kids were occupying themselves on little tables equipped with art and crafts supplies, and some were in different corners of the room, playing with building blocks and other toys. </p><p>Bog smiled as one little blonde girl stood up from the table she sat by, bringing a finished drawing and giving it to the caretaker. The older woman hugged the girl and took the picture, pegging it to the strings that crisscrossed the room,  all manners of creations adorning them. </p><p>Though he heard nothing, Bog could tell the children were well looked after, and the kid's club had a solid clientele and good management. Everything seemed clean and orderly, even with the fifteen odd children about. One corner of the room had a small kitchen, with a long island with a low bench on the out-facing side. Bog assumed this was for cooking activities, or perhaps for meals, and smiled again at memories of his cooking attempts. </p><p>When he was ten, he decided he would be a chef. He followed his mother around the kitchen day in and day out, almost driving her up the wall with questions. Bog wanted to make sure he knew all he could before attempting the actual cooking. </p><p>Two burned cakes, dozens of rock hard chocolate chip cookies, and five charcoal-black steaks later and he gave up on that idea. </p><p>Bog got up again, holding Marianne's 'gift' in his arms, and barreled through the throngs of people that streamed through the mall. As it was the weekend, the halls were filled with chatter and laughter, and Bog took it all in, walking carefully with his burden. </p><p>Finally, he reached the area where Marianne's store was in, and only then noticed the pun in its name: The Golden Controller. He scoffed and grumbled in lieu of smiling and set a stern and serious expression on his face, stepping in between the anti-theft detectors. </p><p>There were about a dozen kids between the ages of seven to sixteen, by the looks of it, all bouncing around the store. The owner herself manned the counter. She leaned on it, smiling in a way Bog refused to think of as sweet, making conversation with the blond security guard that let them enter back into the garage the night before. The one that laughed at their police escort. </p><p>Bog felt a slight qualm when she turned to see him, her eyes shining and directed a grin towards him, the purple-tinted lips stretched wide with pleasure. </p><p>"Bog!" Marianne waved him over, glancing at the pumpkin and raising an eyebrow. She looked genuinely happy to see him. </p><p>The blond next to her twisted his mouth when Bog stepped closer, as though he smelled something funny. </p><p>Bog instantly hated him. </p><p>"I… I have something—" Bog started, suddenly unsure what to say when Marianne looked at him like that, when one of the younger kids zoomed past him, tripping him up and upending the pumpkin—"For you…" </p><p>Candy went everywhere. Bog felt as though the weight of the pumpkin settled in his gut when he saw the arc of loose taffies, Candy corn, discount Valentine's Day hearts, and every other cheap sweets he could lay his hands on fly towards Marianne and the security guard in slow motion. The volley of tiny, edible missiles struck her in the face, went down the low-cut neckline of her top, scattering all over Marianne's floor, making an unholy racket like falling gravel. </p><p>There were a few seconds of heavy silence when the last candy rolled and stopped before the younger kids screamed. Bog jumped a foot in the air, spilling even more of the loose sweets to the floor. </p><p>There was a crash and heaving of bodies as most of the kids dropped to the ground and filled their pockets with the candy, laughing loudly and pushing each other. </p><p>Bog stared in horror at the floor, avoiding the daggers Marianne must have been throwing his way when a tower of game boxes tipped and fell in the commotion. </p><p>Above the noise the kids made, Bog could hear two more sounds. The tell-tale smothered laughter from the security guard, where the blond twit snorted and hiccuped under his breath, and one more sound—a far more ominous one. </p><p>"Did you say those were for me?" she said, growling more than speaking. </p><p>Cringing into himself, Bog turned first his torso and then his head to face the dragoness herself entirely. She all but breathed fire out of her flared nostrils. Marianne's brown eyes were open all the way, impressively managing to look threatening despite the fact white showed all around their pretty color. Bog could hardly see the dark, glittery eyeshadow behind the lids. </p><p>"I… it was a joke!" Bog squeaked and tried to clear his tight throat inconspicuously. "A thank you gift!" </p><p>She blinked, somehow making that look scary, too. "Oh, is that so?" Marianne ignored the mess on the floor, singularly focused on Bog. </p><p>He didn't see where it came from or get any sort of warning beyond an eerie twitching smile spreading across Marianne's face. The blaze in her eyes should have tipped him off, but he stood frozen in place. A large day-glow pink water gun appeared in Marianne's hands, swinging up at Bog as her smile twisted into a sneer. </p><p>Water that was far too blue to be natural shot out of the barrel, hitting Bog's chest and shoulder. He flinched aside, throwing an arm up with an undignified squawk. It got the side of his face, accompanied by a stench so foul it brought tears to his eyes. </p><p>Bog gagged, filing in the direction of the exit, his arms flailing. Unable to see, he slammed into the side of the door and staggered back as stars lit up inside his head. His leg caught on a display case next to the door sending small boxed figures cascading across the floor. On his hands and knees, Bog found the opening, stumbled out, and fled into the mall, rubbing his eyes. </p><p>"Worth it." Marianne smirked, tilting her water gun against her shoulder as her patrons gaped at the mess and smell. "Relax, I have a counter spray." She put the water gun under the counter then grabbed a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels to take care of the mess. There were giggles as several patrons pinched their noses and began picking through the candy on the floor near them. </p><p>### </p><p>"Tell me where your broom is, and I'll help," offered the security guard crouching next to her. </p><p>"In the back, just inside the door." Marianne smiled, motioning to the back of the store. "But you might want to follow him and make sure he doesn't fall into the fountain and drown or get run over by one of those motorized animals." </p><p>"Nah, not my responsibility." He laughed and turned to go to the back, then stopped and turned. "By the way, my name is Roland." </p><p>"I know," Marianne waved at his chest, "It's on your name tag." </p><p>Roland slipped his fingers beneath the tag as though having to verify it, then laughed again. "So it is." He stood for a moment. "So, is your name Candy?" </p><p>Marianne groaned, cocking her head to one side. "Really? I am not by any means sweet, so don't even try that line on me." </p><p>Roland flashed a gleaming white smile, motioning to Marianne's shirt. "It's sewn on your shirt." </p><p>Marianne frowned, grabbing her shirt and noticing her pin badge had fallen off and the name Candy was embroidered where it should have been. Marianne gave him a sheepish grin. "It came with the store." Roland nodded, the charming smile remaining as he turned away to get the broom. </p><p>Marianne couldn't help but watch him walk, his dark grey pants moving and shifting a very nice pair of butt cheeks. Actually, every part of Roland was 'very nice', toned, and just right. He had an athletic build and a swagger in his walk that was almost delicious. Marianne licked her lips, then realized she was still on the floor, on her knees, staring at a mall security guard like he was prime rib. </p><p>"Knock it off." Marianne laughed to herself, shaking her head. She returned to cleaning up the dye, spritzing the blue spots. The smell was already gone from her first pass, and the memory of Bog's face when she hit him came back. It was replaced by the sound his face made when he hit the side of the door so hard he rattled the glass. If he hadn't been such a jerk, she would have felt bad. </p><p>### </p><p>"What is that smell?" Griselda called through the living room when Bog rushed past. He didn't answer, vanishing into his room and slamming the door. Bog left a trail of clothing across his floor to the bathroom, then dove into the shower, turning the water on. </p><p>"Brrrr," Bog sputtered as cold water struck his skin, making his muscles seize up. His teeth chattered, and he grabbed a bottle of body wash. He shook as he filled his hand with soap, then began slapping it on his chest, rubbing vigorously in an effort to get rid of the smell and the azure blue that seemed to be everywhere. </p><p>Half an hour later, he had emptied two bottles of body wash, a bar of soap, and destroyed two loofahs. Bog's skin was bright red on his chest and face where he had scrubbed at the dye, and it was still there, possibly even brighter than when he had started. It looked a little purple in areas, and Bog scowled, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. It looked like he had rubbed so hard, he'd given himself a bunch of little bruises. </p><p>Worse. </p><p>His face was puffy, and the left side was blue. The right side was turning purple in almost a perfect line that went up the middle of his eye, which was in the process of darkening from red to purple. Bog grumbled, gingerly touching his fingertips to a large knot that had formed over his forehead, just above his eye. </p><p>"I look like a bad art project," huffed Bog, grabbing a towel and quickly drying his hair. The paint was still there, but thankfully the smell had washed away. Now he smelled like a Christmas Tree lot, which was an improvement over highway skunk. Barely. </p><p>Bog continued grumbling as he left the bathroom and changed into something relaxing, dark blue sweatpants and the matching top to hide the enormous swath of blue that was all over his chest. His room stunk, and Bog decided to sacrifice the clothes he had been wearing, stuffing them into a small trash bag, then tossing the bag into his closet. He would dispose of it later. Right now, it could sit in the closet. </p><p>Next on Bog's list was making sure that he didn't need to go to a hospital. He grabbed his laptop and began searching for symptoms of head trauma to look for and thankfully found that since he had minor head pain where the lump was, it wasn't too serious if it went away and he was alert enough. </p><p>Finally, he resigned himself to the fact he could never leave his bedroom again. It was his newest home within his new home. Going out with his face bruised and splotched with blue dye—having to answer the inevitable questions from his parents—there was no way he could explain. Bog couldn't even really understand how the chain of events led to this. </p><p>It was like the world was out to get him, and Marianne held the reins.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bahahahaha... I kinda feel bad about this... just a little.. no... no I don't. Is anyone out there enjoying this??</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Peace Offering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marianne brings Bog a gift, intending to smooth things over with him, but Bog is in no mood for pleasantries.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marianne tapped her fingers on her lower lip, perusing the selections in Whipped, the tiny bakery a few doors down from her store. The glass display case held a variety of delicious looking pastries and fancy donuts. They also served custom blends of coffee, and the owner was always on hand to make the perfect suggestion that was just right to brighten someone's day.</p><p>The owner was a massive chunk of a man named Brutus who took up almost all the space behind the display case. He had a pair of minions who squeezed around him, trying to fill orders as fast as they could. </p><p>"There's a line." Someone behind Marianne complained, stamping her foot on the ground.</p><p>"Yes, and I am first in line." Marianne looked over her shoulder coolly, raising her eyebrows and daring the woman to go any further. The woman pursed her lips and glowered at her.</p><p>"One custom hot chai, no wait, two custom hot chai. One for me, and you know the owner's son, Bog?" Marianne looked up at Brutus, who nodded. "One is for him. Then I want six of these fancy donuts. I don't care which ones." Brutus nodded, being a man of few words. He began moving, far faster than a man his size should, and Marianne pulled out her wallet.</p><p>Soon, a small box and a drink carrier appeared on the counter above the display, and Marianne began counting out coins, taking her time, a grin on her face as she could literally hear the woman behind her stewing at how long she was taking. </p><p>"I'll pay for it if it gets you out of my way." The woman all but snarled, stepping up to the counter and tossing a credit card onto it.</p><p>"Oh! Thank you!" Marianne glanced over her shoulder with a grin, pleased with the unintended result of the impatient customer. She grabbed the cup carrier and box of donuts, then laughed in passing. "Pleasure doing business with you." Snickers rose from the line as she walked past them and on out the door. </p><p>Despite how the day began, it was going good now. Her store had been busy, and Dawn came down to fill in and give her a little break. She could handle the store for half an hour without a problem.</p><p>Marianne was busy for most of the morning, but in between the steady stream of people coming in to pick up the newest game, she kept seeing the image of Bog's face as he tried to say it was a joke. His face had paled even more than it usually was, eyes darting back and forth, trying to look at everything that wasn't her. She could read people well enough to see he hadn't intended to make the mess he did. His adam's apple had bobbed nervously as he swallowed, drawing her attention to his neck. He had even been sweating and that squeak in his voice. Honestly, it would have been adorable had it not been her store he made the mess in.</p><p>So she decided that she would be the better person in this situation and give him a little thank you gift, that wasn't a joke or a prank. Just a box of donuts and a cup of hot chai. Who wouldn't like that? It would be a peace offering and a thank you for the previous night. He had gone out of his way for her, and she might even let the fact he owed her for getting him out of a possible ticket slide. Or maybe not. Who knew when you needed a favor from someone.</p><p>Marianne tucked the box of donuts under her arm, walking through the crowded mall to the nearby elevator that went to their floor. She would stop by, give him the donuts and be back in her shop soon afterward, feeling much better about herself.</p><p>She also wanted to see how well her anti-theft solution in the water gun worked. It was a special dye she had purchased meant to make it easy to track down someone stealing from her store. The stench and color would make anyone run out of confusion alone. It was far less intrusive than pepper spray, and she had a counter agent that erased the dye and got rid of the smell fast. She left it in her store because she wanted Bog to remember what he did every time he looked in a mirror for the next month. </p><p>A few minutes later, Marianne knocked on the door to Bog's suite. She didn't have to wait long. Griselda answered the door with a smile, "Good morning, Marianne. What brings you here this early in the day?" Griselda's smile widened, and she glanced at Marianne's hands.</p><p>"I wanted to stop by and see Bog," replied Marianne with an innocent, far too sweet smile. She could smell a faint odor. </p><p>"Oh?" Griselda's brown eyes widened, and the grin seemed to somehow get even bigger. "Good luck. He's in his room and won't come out. Come in." She stepped aside, sweeping her hand out across the open living room. "His door is right there if you want to talk to him, but he seems very grumpy. I'm not sure what's going on, so you may not want to try. It's up to you. I'll be outside in my studio."</p><p>Marianne nodded, knowing exactly why Bog wouldn't leave his room. "I'll see what I can do." She crossed the room and waited until she heard the sound of the doors leading out to the balcony open and close before knocking on Bog's door with the back of her hand, cradling the box of donuts against her.</p><p>"Go away, Mother." Bog's voice rose with an irritated growl in it. "I'm fine. I just want to be alone."</p><p>"Fine by me, but I brought you something." Marianne leaned her head against the door as she spoke. "And it's not a joke or a prank."</p><p>"What are you doing in my house?" Bog's voice came closer.</p><p>Marianne stood in silence, working through what to say and how to say it. "Your mom let me in, and I brought you something to thank you for last night."</p><p>There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the door. "Leave it on the counter," muttered Bog. </p><p>"I went to Whipped just for you," said Marianne in a voice so sweet, her teeth ached. "You know that shop—"</p><p>The door opened before she finished, and Bog stood on the other side, glowering at her. "Yes." He nodded, glancing from her to the box of donuts and the two drinks. </p><p>Marianne stared at his face. It was a disaster of colors, and it appeared he had attempted to put paint over the blue side of his face. </p><p>She didn't want to laugh.</p><p>But she did.</p><p>Her face broke, and it began as a grimace. Bog scowled at her, unamused. Then she started shaking. Unable to control herself, the laughter broke free, and she leaned forward, offering the box of donuts to Bog.</p><p>"I'm so glad this is funny to you." He jerked the box from her hands, then took the drink holder, walking past her to get to the kitchen.</p><p>"I know your mom said you're an artist, but did you try to paint over the blue with acrylic?" Marianne gasped as she followed him, barely able to speak.</p><p>Bog set the donuts on the counter and gave her a dark look as she leaned on her elbows on the other side. He flipped the box open and stared at the offering. She could see the drool beginning to form as he ran his tongue over his lips. </p><p>"You didn't do anything to these, did you?" he asked with growing suspicion.</p><p>"What?" Marianne laughed, then realized he was serious. "Why would I do that?"</p><p>Bog just stared at her.</p><p>"Wow, you think I'm a real witch, don't you?" The thought amused more than insulted her. "Look, I'll taste the chai and pinch off a piece of whatever donut you want to eat, and I'll eat it first. The whole box if you want." Marianne giggled.</p><p>"Okay." Bog pushed the drink carrier to her. "Drink first. Which one is mine?"</p><p>"This one." Marianne selected one of the cubs, which had a B written on it. She tipped it up and took a sip."</p><p>"I want to see you drink it." Bog rolled his eyes and leaned closer. Marianne tried not to react, but he was acting like a crazy person. She made sure he could see her open her mouth and drink, then stuck her tongue out at him. "Okay," he grunted, taking the cup from her and sipping.</p><p>"So, which donut?" Marianne took the edge of the box between her fingers and turned it so she could reach inside.</p><p>"I'll pick it, thank you." Bog tapped her hand with his fingertips as though afraid to touch her, but at the same time wanting her to get her hands off the box.</p><p>"Are you going to feed me donuts?" Marianne found herself still leaning on her elbows, giving him a playful look. His responses were entertaining. He was not amused by her smiling at him, and she began kicking a foot behind her, toeing the carpet. She poured on the charm. "I might bite." Marianne snapped her teeth, and Bog looked horrified.</p><p>Bog frowned, looking at the box of richly decorated donuts as though torn. It was such a sad look, Marianne decided to give it to him. "I swear I won't, but I need to get back to my store. Look. I'll close my eyes, and you can have me taste them."</p><p>"Okay." Bog nodded slowly, reaching into the box and selecting a donut that had been cut in half, filled with a lovely beige cream. Sliced strawberries decorated the top, and there was a dusting of powdered sugar over it.</p><p>"I was just joking," Marianne said as Bog opened a cupboard door and pulled out a plate, then fished around in a drawer for a butter knife. He placed the donut on the plate and cut a neat wedge out of it. </p><p>She opened her mouth, and Bog stared at her uncertainly, pushing the plate closer. "Just pick it up and eat it."</p><p>"I'm not getting sugar all over my fingers." Marianne closed her eyes, trying hard not to smile. There was a good chance she would end up with icing on her forehead, but it was worth it to continue to get the perplexed look on Bog's face. He furrowed his eyebrows, a slight flush rising over his high cheekbones.</p><p>Bog mumbled something and picked up the piece of donut. "You could just wash your hands off." He held it in front of her face, then resigned himself to carefully placing the piece into her mouth, letting it drop rather than give her a chance to bite him.</p><p>"Delicious." Marianne opened her eyes, eating the slice with relish. "I swear, there's nothing wrong with them."</p><p>"With that one, sure." Bog rolled his eyes and turned to the box. He began cutting off little chunks of donut, placing them on the plate until he had a piece of each one.</p><p>"Are you really that paranoid?"</p><p>"How stupid do you think I am?"</p><p>"I don't know. How long do we have to discuss it?" A piece of donut hit Marianne on the cheek, and she blinked at Bog, who glared back at her. He didn't say a word, flinging a second piece at her face.</p><p>Marianne stared at him, stunned. Was he really throwing food at her? A third piece flew through the air, and she grabbed it, batting it back at him. "What are you, twelve?"</p><p>Bog didn't answer, giving her a massive grin. She grabbed for the plate, and he leaped back, laughing. He tossed another piece of donut, and she reached over the counter, grabbing a handful of donuts from the box.</p><p>"You are such a brat!" Marianne squealed, tearing off bits of donut and throwing them at him as he ducked behind the counter, throwing pieces back at her.</p><p>"I'm a brat? You're an entitled witch!" Bog groped for the box of donuts as Marianne pelted him with bits of fruit and icing covered donuts. "It was a joke!"</p><p>Marianne growled, then saw his hand come dangerously close to the cup of hot chai. If he hit it, it'd probably fall on him and burn him with the way his luck seemed to go. She couldn't let that happen, knowing what he'd already endured that morning. Marianne lunged over the cabinet, grabbing for the cup as Bog's hand swung toward it… and she ended up sliding all the way over with a yelp, squishing the cup in her hands.</p><p>Bog grabbed Marianne around the waist the moment he saw the chai explode, picking her up and hefting her to the sink, where he slammed a hand onto the faucet to turn on the cold water. Marianne barely had time to feel the heat as he grabbed both her hands and shoved them under the water, standing behind her with his chest against her head.</p><p>"What were you doing?" He demanded, turning her hand over beneath the water, looking over her head to make sure they weren't burned.</p><p>"You were going to knock your chai off the counter," stammered Marianne, staring at her hands, completely confused about how she ended up where she was. </p><p>"Or you were going to dump it on me?" Bog stepped back, grabbing her by the wrist to look at one hand, then the other, and she let him, still stunned.</p><p>"Why are you like this?" Marianne stared at her hands, turning them over as he let her go. Bog tossed a dishtowel at her, then turned to look at the mess, in time to see his mother standing on the other side of the kitchen, watching them with her mouth agape.</p><p>"I'm afraid to ask."</p><p>Marianne cringed, drying her hands as Bog backed into her. </p><p>"Dear, what happened to your face?" Griselda gasped in horror.</p><p>"Go," hissed Bog over his shoulder. "I'll take care of this."</p><p>Marianne didn't need to be told twice, glancing back at Griselda and waving. "I'll see myself out." Then she darted for the front door, almost taking the dish towel with her. She was in the hall when she realized it was still in her hands. Marianne turned back to open the door enough to toss the dishtowel back inside, adding, "Sorry about that, Bog! Come over after five, and I'll help clean up the dye! That was my fault, Mrs. Thorne!"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me writing this when Bog flicked a piece of donut at Marianne:.. why... why did you do that? WHY?! We're trying to be better!</p><p>I hope you enjoy our little chapter. Leave a comment if you can! Just a few words is so nice for both of us!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Clearing the Air</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bog and Marianne rethink how they've been acting and attempt to reconcile their differences with peace offerings.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bog had a battle between a smile and a frown on his face the entire time he cleaned the kitchen.</p><p>It took longer than he thought—greasy and sugary prints were everywhere, dotted like chickenpox, chai tea on the floor, and just when he thought he finished, he noticed the drip marks down the side of the counter.</p><p>But if he was honest with himself, he didn’t mind too much. Marianne took the lifeline he gave her and virtually ran out of the door, while Griselda’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline at their behavior. Behind Marianne’s back, Griselda mouthed things to Bog, which he made a point of ignoring. Then, the door shut, and his mother let out a soundless scream.</p><p>“Ah! I knew it! I can’t wait to tell your father! He had his doubts, but I told him, even fifteen years ago, I told him!” she babbled, making no sense at all.</p><p>“Mom… I’m not even going to pretend to know what you’re talking about, but this isn’t what it looks like.” Sighing, Bog stepped to the sink, reaching for the cloth.  </p><p>“And I am not even going to pretend to know how in the world you got that huge bruise on your face or the paint, or why there is a strawberry in your hair.” Finished with her blabbering, Griselda lifted an eyebrow, pointedly looking at the state of Bog’s face. “You’re an adult now, Boggy. I get it. You want to do adult things,” she sighed.” Oh, you grew up so fast. You were always a clumsy kid.”</p><p>“Ugh… here we go…” Bog started to wipe the chai off the counter, exasperated but entertained at his mother’s storytelling. Whenever she got lost in her recollections, there was always a funny ending.</p><p>Scoffing, Griselda walked around the island to reach her son, daintily avoiding the spill and donut chunks, to wrap her arm around his torso. “Do you remember when you broke your arm at first grade? That girl, Ashley, was chasing you.”</p><p>“Oh God, yeah. She was trying to kiss me!” Bog laughed, shaking his head. “I fell off the monkey bars.”</p><p>“You did, and I was really worried. Then a few years later, you needed stitches in your head, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah… was it Fiona? I think it was Fiona,” Bog paused his wiping for a moment, thinking. “What did she try to do?”</p><p>“She wanted you to be her Valentine!” Suddenly, Griselda clung to Bog, exploding in laughter. “We had to move you to a different class! That girl was relentless.”</p><p>“Yeah! I really liked Mrs. Applebloom, though.”</p><p>“So, the point is, Bog, you get ditzy whenever you have girls around you. Keep that in mind, will you?” Griselda forced him to turn, placing a soft hand over his painted cheek before reaching to pluck a sugar-coated strawberry out of his hair. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt, even if it is for the sake of falling in love.”</p><p>——————-</p><p>“What happened?” Dawn giggled when Marianne stepped through the doors to her store. “Did you get in a food fight with Brutus?” she bounced out from behind the counter and began brushing donut crumbs and bits of chocolate shavings from Marianne’s hair before she could stop her.</p><p>“No, I--” Marianne clamped her mouth shut, batting her sister’s hand away. “I’ll be right back.” Grumbling, she walked past her sister to the little bathroom at the back of her store. She had been so flustered; she had not given a single thought to the fact she was a mess.</p><p>“I’m dying to know what you were doing!” Dawn followed her through the empty store. “There’s a strawberry on the back of your head and whipped cream.” Her little sister suddenly gasped and squealed, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Was there a boy?”</p><p>Marianne cringed, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She had smudges of cream, chocolate, strawberry, and powdered sugar all over her face and shirt. With a groan, Marianne tilted her head against the glass. She had walked through the mall looking like this. No wonder so many people had smiled at her and giggled.</p><p>“It is a boy! Who is it? That cute security guard, Rollo? Roland… no, that’s not right. Roland? Was that his name?” Dawn prattled behind her, and Marianne winced. At least he had not seen her. That would have been so embarrassing! He was too cute to see her looking like this.</p><p>“Why don’t you make yourself useful and find me a comb or a brush?” suggested Marianne, glaring at her sister’s reflection in the mirror.</p><p>Dawn bounced off and returned a moment later with a glittering pink brush in hand. She joined Marianne in the bathroom and helped her brush the crumbs out of her hair. Marianne scowled, washing the smudges off her face as her sister attempted to tame her hair into some sense of order.</p><p>Marianne stared into the mirror again, making sure she got everything off her face. She would have to redo her makeup, but that wasn’t important. A strange sense of calmness came upon her when she would normally have been angry. She wasn’t mad in the least, even though Bog had turned her offering into a mess, and she didn’t even come out of it with the chai tea she had gotten for herself.</p><p>She wasn’t mad.</p><p>Instead, there was this strange peace she couldn’t recall experiencing before today. There was even a fuzzy sense of joy for no discernible reason. It clung to her, a warmth that seeped through her entire being, sinking deep within her bones.</p><p>What was going on with her? This wasn’t normal.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>The peaceful calm didn’t completely disappear, but it did fade a little at Dawn’s softly spoken question.</p><p>“I know I tease, but if you had a fight with a boy or something, you can always talk to me.” Dawn looked at her expectantly, honest and pure in her intentions. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing.” It wasn’t a lie if she didn’t know the answer, was it? Marianne turned to her sister. “Sorry for snapping at you. We better get back out there. The afternoon crowd will show up soon. We have to close at five.”</p><p>“We don’t have to close early,” said Dawn cheerily. “I can handle it for a few hours!”</p><p>Marianne laughed, reaching out to tousle her little sister’s wild hair. “No. I seem to recall you have a test to study for and Mom and Dad are on you about keeping that straight-A average.”</p><p>“Right,” groaned Dawn. “I just wanted to help.”</p><p>“You’re helping as it is. Thank you. Dawn, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Marianne gave her sister a brief hug, then slid her hand over her shoulder to push her to the door. “Now, get out there, retail slave. Make me some money.”</p><p>Dawn giggled, skipping through the door.</p><p>Marianne smiled, watching her go. Her baby sister had an easy life. She didn’t struggle with who she wanted to be. She was good in school, had plenty of good friends, and could have any boy she wanted.</p><p>And she was naive.</p><p>Marianne envied that point in her life she could never experience again. Granted, she had been an awkward, clumsy girl and never found an actual boyfriend. Just idiots who thought she was an easy target. A few black eyes later, and the rumors began spreading. High school soon became a place she dreaded, and she shunned everything she had at one time looked forward to.</p><p>She avoided everyone, ditched classes, refused to go to the dances she once enjoyed, and finally dropped out, much to her parents’ distress. They didn’t understand. She took her GED, enrolled in college courses, and did better as just another face in a crowd.</p><p>It was better this way. She ran her life on her terms, and no snot-nosed, arrogant teenaged boy would derail her ambitions.</p><p>###</p><p>Bog snagged the chai tea Marianne had left behind and took a long drink. It was still pleasantly warm, and there was no need to let it go to waste. It was different from the one she had given him, one of Brutus’ customs if he assumed right.</p><p>Vanilla.</p><p>Orange.</p><p>Deep in thought, he sucked in his lips to make sure there was nothing on them, then licked them. Inside, he scoffed at his mother’s words. Falling in love? No. He was not. I am not falling in love with that she-devil.</p><p>Bog crossed the room, retreating to his bedroom. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had already showered enough to last several weeks, he would have gone and cleaned up a little more. There were probably still bits of donut in his hair.</p><p>Now what?</p><p>It occurred to him that he should do something nice for Marianne. She brought him a box of delicious donuts, and for no sane reason, he had followed a bizarre impulse. Bog would replace the donuts and drink tomorrow, maybe. But he couldn’t venture down into the mall looking the way he did, just then.</p><p>After further thought, another idea came to him, one that made him smile. Bog grabbed his sketchbook and pencil case, then flopped onto his bed, leaning back against the headboard. He began sketching, outlining a depiction of the earlier candy disaster in comic form. It took only three panels—buying the candy, bringing the pumpkin into the shop, and the crash and burn of it spreading everywhere. There was no way he would draw himself crash into the door or getting sprayed by that blue liquid. No thanks having the evidence on his face is memorable enough. </p><p>He had finished the first panel quickly, the cashier’s blank and lifeless ‘have a nice day’ written in a bubble in lowercase letters. It was the second panel that started troubling Bog. He had drawn Marianne and the blonde cad next to her as realistically as he could before realizing that it was the wrong thing to do. She looked almost like the real-life version, and that was not right.</p><p>She couldn’t know just how beautiful she was to him.</p><p>So, frowning at having to erase the appealing features—full lips, button nose, large, luminous eyes all set in a small fairy-like face, Bog snapped a couple of pictures with his phone, then set about making corrections. He erased his work, a truly painful ordeal, then redid it in a more stylized caricature. After high school, he took a few different art classes, and it was rewarding to see the skill he painfully honed come into use. The security guard was easy enough to rub away, which Bog had done with a sneer on his face. Vain idiot. Instead, he drew an uglified ken doll, with sparkles around the head, just to dig the knife a little deeper.</p><p>The third and final panel was The Incident. Marianne’s angry face, candy spread on the floor, and a speech bubble over Bog’s head, saying, “It was a joke!”</p><p>He was almost done with it when his stomach gurgled. Putting the sketchbook and pencil aside, Bog went to the kitchen with the goal of either making a sandwich or finding leftovers to eat.</p><p>In the kitchen was his mother, cooking a vegetarian lentil soup.</p><p>“Good. I was going to come and get you to have some lunch.” Turning to the dish-washer, where some of the newly unpacked dishes had been washed, she pulled out two bowls and spoons. “After I’m done here, I’m taking a shower and going to the salon to get ready.” Griselda poured the fragrant broth into the bowls, giving Bog the first one served.</p><p>“Uh, okay, Mom,” he said, unsure what she meant but too hungry to start a long discussion about it.</p><p>“You need to be dressed and ready by five-thirty, your father said.”</p><p>That got his attention. The spoon suspended in front of his mouth, Bog looked up. “Huh?”</p><p>“The party, remember? With the Golds?” She leaned over the counter, blowing on the soup carefully. “I’m assuming you will get the paint off by then, right?”</p><p>“What party?” Bog’s thoughts wandered, his brow furrowing with intense digging for whatever it was his mother was referring. Was there something important going on this evening?</p><p>“The one we were invited to by Mrs. Marchand,” his mother raised her eyebrows and put her spoon in her mouth. “Hmm, that new supermarket has some of those nice orange lentils you like. Make sure to eat lots.”</p><p>Distracted, Bog took a sip too soon, scalding his tongue on the hot spoon. “Ow!”</p><p>“Do be careful, dear,” Griselda said tranquilly, not even looking his way.</p><p>Inside, Bog grumbled first and foremost at the party. He hated those kinds of social events—there was an undertone of exhibition between the adults, everyone showing their kids off in multiple ways, and Bog despised being put on the spot like that. A bunch of strangers asking about his art or his achievements? Ugh.</p><p>Secondly, since when had his mother stopped fussing over him? She didn’t even care that he burned his tongue!</p><p>Thirdly, his face was covered in blue paint and bruises.</p><p>What the hell am I going to do?</p><p>###</p><p>Marianne could trust Dawn to handle the store for fifteen minutes and left a little before five to prepare for Bog’s visit. She had just enough time to set up her supplies, including the special dye remover to get all the blue off his face. Marianne didn’t own any kind of foundation that would match Bog’s skin, as pale as it was, so she raided her sister’s far more extensive collection and found something that would work.</p><p>For six months, Marianne had gone through a phase where she was fascinated by movie style makeup, and she took a class to learn more about the profession. It was fun, and she had a knack for it, but they didn’t live in an area where it was a valid avenue for employment. It came in handy for the local haunted house attractions in the fall, only tonight, she wouldn’t be creating massive bruises but trying to hide them. </p><p>Marianne was so involved in making sure she had everything she needed; she didn’t hear the doorbell ring nor her mother answer it. “So, Marianne, care to explain what did you do to this poor boy?” Marianne cringed as her mother asked the question, looking up to see her standing next to a very sheepish Bog. He held an envelope in both hands, his posture slouched forward and head down.</p><p>“What—what makes you think I had anything to do with it?” asked Marianne in complete innocence, rising to her feet. “How do you know whatever it was, wasn’t all his fault?”</p><p>“Well, he’s here asking you to fix it, isn’t he?” Irene glanced from Marianne to Bog, her lips pursed together tightly. “He said he was here to get rid of the dye.”</p><p>Marianne cringed, walking to them and gesturing for her mother to leave. “How about, this is a long story you don’t want to hear, and there were mistakes made, and I’m going to help him get rid of that dye, even though he deserves to wear it all night.” Marianne spoke in a rush, fixing Bog with a glare and daring him to say anything further about what happened.</p><p>It was his fault.</p><p>“I’m fine,” said Bog with a sigh. “She offered to help me out, so I don’t embarrass everyone tonight.”</p><p>Irene frowned, then nodded, accepting the answer. “You don’t have much time. I expect you ready to go at five-thirty.” Irene sighed and shook her head, mumbling something about kids as she left.</p><p>Bog waited for Irene to get out of earshot before stepping inside the room, his eyes on the floor. Marianne frowned, pushing the door closed behind him, leaving a small crack before it shut entirely. “Can you do this in half an hour?”</p><p>“Yeah, if I rush,” replied Marianne, gripping his arm and hauling him across the room to her vanity. She sat him down and picked up a towel, draping it quickly over his shoulders and tucking it into his collar to protect his clothes. “Close your eyes.” Bog scowled but did as he was told.</p><p>Marianne brought out a spray bottle and liberally wet a cloth, then began wiping it roughly over Bog’s face. The dye came off immediately, revealing bright red skin beneath. Marianne cringed at the sight of it, a little guilt rising up that he had tried to get rid of it so hard he had rubbed his skin raw.</p><p>She bit her lower lip, working a little more gently to remove the rest of it, going down his cheek and neck. There was more, but she wasn’t going to bother with anything that wasn’t visible. For someone who seemed very talkative and expressive about his discomfort, Bog was silent, sliding his fingers over the envelope still in his hands.</p><p>Once the dye was off his face, Marianne brought out a tube of moisturizing cream. She applied it quickly to all the red areas on Bog’s face, close enough she could see every little twitch and movement in his face. He kept his eyes closed, and she gazed at his eyelashes, hoping he wouldn’t open his eyes and catch her. They were so thick and long.</p><p>Then there was the layer of stubble on his face, which was even and not patchy. It could use a little trimming, but she wasn’t about to suggest it… or… He was her captive, stuck here with his eyes closed. She had a pair of trimmers that weren’t exactly meant for a man’s face, which brought about a giggle.</p><p>“What are you laughing about?” Bog asked suspiciously, his eyes opening a crack to peer at her.</p><p>“Nothing,” gasped Marianne in mock insult. “You don’t have time to shave. I thought I’d offer to do a quick style trim.”</p><p>“This is something you’ve done before?” Bog’s eyebrows knit together tightly as his eyes opened wider.</p><p>“No, but how hard can it be? I swear, if I mess up, I’ll just shave everything off for you.” Marianne offered with a smile. “So close your eyes, and I’ll take care of it.”</p><p>“You expect me to close my eyes while you’re waving an electric shaver over my face?” Bog frowned, then she popped him on the forehead with her fingers.</p><p>“Seriously, what am I going to do with it? It’s not a straight razor!” Marianne laughed and lifted the corner of the towel, rubbing it over Bog’s chin as he made faces at her, then sighed and closed his eyes.</p><p>Marianne opened a drawer and pulled out her little pink bikini razor, and she stifled a giggle. It was just another razor, never mind where it was typically used. Bog kept his eyes closed but still made faces as she gripped his face, making sure his skin was tight, then she went to work, making sure to work with the grain of the hair on his face. She didn’t want to leave him with any ingrown hairs to deal with the next day.</p><p>With the boy at her mercy, she worked on him like he was a special project, edging the stubble on his face into a neat and decently attractive pattern that matched on both sides. She didn’t do a half-bad job if she said so herself. The bikini shaver ended up back in the drawer for now. She’d clean it up later but didn’t want him to realize what she had used.</p><p>“You can open your eyes now,” said Marianne, picking up the foundation she planned to use to cover Bog’s worst bruises after using a clean blush brush to get the cut hair off his face. He frowned, turning to the mirror, then smiled, a genuine smile that lifted his eyebrows and lit his face. Bog leaned toward the mirror, running his fingers over his chin and cheeks, looking over what Marianne had done.</p><p>“Uh, thank you,” coughed Bog, turning his smile to her.</p><p>“Great.” Marianne glanced away. “Let’s take care of those bruises so we can get to this stupid party.” Bog nodded, and for a moment, his eyelids drooped, the smile growing as he looked at her. Marianne fought her own reaction, focusing on the makeup. No. That was not going to happen. She did not see any such look on his face, and if she did, it was just because he was a stupid nineteen-year-old and she had been touching him.</p><p>He was such a jerk, she’d be surprised if a girl had ever touched him in his entire life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have nothing to say that isn't already here. :D HAPPY NEW YEAR!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Cover up Coverup</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marianne helps Bog conceal the evidence of their earlier meeting and then they're both off to a boring, yet eventful party.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bog didn’t want to, but he continually checked himself out in the mirror as Marianne worked on him. First, she applied something she called a concealer, then foundation, all somewhat pale to match his skin. At first, he wasn’t convinced it would work, but Marianne worked fast, and in fifteen minutes, concealed the bruise, and his face looked like it had before the incident.</p><p>The last part was dusting his face with some kind of powder that evened everything out. Bog closed his eyes, his lips twitching in an effort not to show just how much he enjoyed that soft brush passing over his face. Even with the mild soreness on his face, it was pleasant.</p><p>When she finished and had him look in the mirror, Bog smiled. He couldn’t help it. There was no sign of bruising other than a little puffiness around the top of his nose and eyes. Otherwise, he looked good, better than good. Bog tilted his head, admiring how everything pulled together, making him look, dare he think it—handsome? That was not a word he used to refer to himself, but right now, the man looking back at him from the mirror looked like he had just walked out of a high price salon.</p><p>Marianne messed with his hair, and he didn’t stop her as she spritzed it with something and ran her fingers through it. He should have stopped her. Bog shifted, pushing his thoughts to himself and how pleased his mother would be when she saw him. Part of him even suggested that maybe he should put effort into maintaining the scruff into something a little more than just shaving it clean, letting it grow out a few days, then doing it again.</p><p>Who knew he could look like this? Certainly not him. Short waves of hair fell over his forehead, and Bog grinned, catching a smile on Marianne’s face. Then he snapped it away, clearing his throat.</p><p>“I, uhm, thank you, Marianne,” said Bog, staring into the mirror, his lips set into a thin line. “Probably should get going.”</p><p>“Yeah, glad you came dressed.” Marianne stepped back, motioning to a dress that laid on her bed--a bed with a cutesy fat rainbow maned punk unicorn dressed in a leather jacket adorning the center of the black bedspread “It won’t take me long to get ready, but we’ll probably be late.”</p><p>“Sorry about that,” said Bog with a sheepish grin, rising to his feet. He gripped the envelope in his fingers, having forgotten about it, and began worrying the top. “I, heh, have… something…” The words stuck in his throat as he repeatedly swallowed, glancing at her.</p><p>“The envelope?” Marianne turned to pick up her dress, glancing over her shoulder. “For me?”</p><p>“Yes, the envelope, no,” stammered Bog, flipping the envelope toward her with a jerk of his hand. “Not the envelope, what’s inside. Yeah, there’s something inside.”</p><p>Marianne’s eyes twinkled in amusement at his difficulty speaking. She took the envelope and opened it, grinning in a disconcerting way. She slid the sheet of paper into her hand and stared at it, small wrinkles forming across her forehead.</p><p>For a moment, Bog worried he had made another mistake. Marianne giggle-snorted and shot a hand over her mouth. She glanced at Bog, her eyes squinting almost closed as her cheeks flushed pink.</p><p>“Did you do this?” she demanded, her face scrunching up around her nose. Her mouth quivered as though she was having a difficult time keeping a straight face. Bog nodded, keeping his eyes on her. Unpredictable. Who knew how she would react. Certainly not him.</p><p>Marianne laughed and turned to her vanity. She slid the comic beneath the mirror’s frame, adjusting it so it wouldn’t fall. “I like it. You’re forgiven.”</p><p>Bog said nothing. He smiled and turned to leave. Saying anything would likely end up ruining the current ceasefire, and he wasn’t in the mood to fight. It was tiring, and once again, they would be in the same place at the same time.</p><p>On the way back, he thanked Mrs. Gold and made his way home, running a hand through his smoothed hair.</p><p>Huh. Maybe Marianne’s not so bad after all. She really did an excellent job…</p><p>“Oh! Boggy, you look wonderful!” It was the first thing he heard, accompanied by a gasp and clap of his mother’s hands. She stood by the balcony, a small potted plant tucked in her bend of her elbow. </p><p>Bog blushed with pleasure at the compliment, even if it came from his mother, and mothers had to think their children looked good at all times.</p><p>“Thanks, mom. I’ll be in my room. Let me know when it’s time to go, okay?”</p><p>Griselda smiled. “C’mere for a second before you go, will you?”</p><p>“Okay…” He complied, walking across the living room to where she watched him.</p><p>“Bend down. I want to tell you something.”</p><p>“Uh…” Again, Bog did as he was told.</p><p>“MUAH!” Griselda laid a huge kiss on the side of his face with no make-up, grabbing his chin with her hand so he couldn’t get away.</p><p>“MOM!” Bog pinwheeled his arms at the sudden kiss.</p><p>“Ah, that’s better. Now you look perfect!” she said contently, releasing him to straighten upright again and rub at the wet mark on his cheek.</p><p>“Wha…?”</p><p>“Love ya, sweetie. Go do your thing before we go,” Griselda dismissed him, waving her hand while she stepped out to her medication room.</p><p>####</p><p>“Wow, Marianne, if I didn’t know better, I would have thought you’re going on a date!” Dawn announced, shoving herself into her sister’s room, where the elder just fitted her feet into a pair of peacock blue wedge heels.</p><p>“This is an important event, Dawn,” Marianne said out of the corner of her mouth, struggling with the clasp.</p><p>Ugh, now I remember why I never wear these.</p><p>“Are you ready? Mom said five-thirty, and you have ten minutes left.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, no issues. I only have the make-up and dress to put on.” Dawn entered the room, heading straight to the open chest where Marianne kept her shoes. “I just want to borrow some shoes…”</p><p>“Sure. Just don’t touch my McQueen heels, got it? Those are off-limits for your little paws.” Rising from the bed, Marianne went to check herself out one last time.</p><p>For the business event, Marianne opted to go with her midi, crushed velvet, bottle green dress. It was high necked, the sleeves ending just past the shoulders, with the back exposed entirely. Fortunately, she had a special suction bra, so the effect of the bareback wasn’t broken by any irritating lines.</p><p>All in all, she looked good, and combined with the iridescent blue-green heels, two jeweled dragonflies for her hair, a few golden bangles on her wrist, and her lucky butterfly ring, Marianne was ready. The minimal make-up with the dark blue and green eyeshadow and subtle pink lipstick was perfect, and she smelled like her favorite peonies perfume.</p><p>“Seriously? That’s how you talk to the sister that agreed to put you out of your misery and come to this party?” Dawn emerged out of the chest, clutching a pair of black kitten heels.</p><p>“First of all, no one begged you to come, Dawn. You wanted to because of that boy. Secondly, those are way too high!” Marianne lifted an eyebrow at her sister, pointing at the shoes. At four and a half inches, there was no way Dawn would last a whole night in them.</p><p>“I’ll be fine! They make my butt look good!” Dawn made a pfft noise, spinning on her heel to go back to her room. “Oh, right, I need this lipstick and eyeshadow, too…” She snatched the desired items off the vanity and then paused just before she rose again.</p><p>“You better give those back when you’re done! I have to pay for them out of my own pocket, you know.” Marianne went to rummage in her closet for a fitting bag and missed Dawn’s mutter.</p><p>“What was that?” she said over her shoulder, picking a small metallic pill shaped clutch that had a long shoulder chain to it.</p><p>“Is this by the guy from yesterday?” Dawn turned her head, her thumb pointing in the comic’s direction.</p><p>Flushing, Marianne pursed her lips and nodded, pretending to fuss with the bag’s small buckle, preparing her essential items.</p><p>“He’s kinda good, isn’t he?” Her sister continued.</p><p>“Better than just good…” Marianne mumbled under her breath before shaking herself. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said loud enough for Dawn to hear.</p><p>“Isn’t that the guy from security?”</p><p>“Yep. That’s Roland.”</p><p>“He’s sort of cute, but in a weird ken-doll way. I never noticed it, before now.” Dawn straightened up, heading again to the door. “Right, I better go. See you in a sec.”</p><p>“Let me know if you need help with make-up,” Marianne called back, receiving a ‘ah hum’ in reply.</p><p>It was better than just good. Bog’s drawing showed a lot of promise and talent. Twisting her mouth, Marianne walked back to the vanity, passing a finger over the back of Bog’s head in the third panel.</p><p>Maybe I should do something in return…</p><p>With the extra time to spare, Marianne went to her desktop, which resided on a small table by her bed. She moved the mouse to turn it on and contemplated what would equate to a decent response to the comic.</p><p>Smiling, she pulled up her favorite sourcecode website, searching for a suitable game template. Her smile widening, she picked the perfect one, her fingers flying on her purple resin keyboard as she began customizing the simple game.</p><p>Let’s see what he thinks of this thing. </p><p>###</p><p>It wasn’t often Bog was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t speak. First, there was the modernist architecture that went into the building they drove up to. The building overlooked downtown without being in downtown. Straight lines broke through the glass, steel, and concrete, forming a work of art six stories high. It was not as simplistic or bizarre as some such structures could be, and honestly, while Bog liked clean lines and simplicity, there was such a thing as too spartan. This building was a work of art.</p><p>The floors were lit with lighting that began with soft golden light on the two lowest floors turning into a pleasant green-blue, then the top floors were lit with blue lighting.</p><p>Bog gaped, staring up the side of the building as he followed his parents, hands loose at his sides. There appeared to be an infinity pool over the entire length of one wall at the top, and foliage adorned the exterior. Tiny twinkling nets of lights wrapped over the shrubs and trees crowning the roof, and music wafted through the air, coming from a live band somewhere on top of the building.</p><p>Mrs. Marchand knew what she was doing, that was for sure—and she had good taste. Bog followed his parents through the front doors, joining other families. The Golds were running a little behind them and told them to go on ahead. He couldn’t help but feel their late arrival was his fault. Marianne had spent far too long on him.</p><p>They ended up on the top floor of the building, where Bog assumed they were going. Normally he hated attending such meetings, especially when they involved socializing. However, this was different than any of the tedious business parties he had attended in the past. The moment they stepped off the elevator, they were greeted and welcomed by Mrs. Marchand.</p><p>Bog tried to pay attention, but his eyes—and stomach—were drawn to the large number of kiosks scattered around the rooftop. He didn’t hear anything, already salivating at the smell of fresh food all around him, from baking sweets to freshly cut fruit and grilled meats.</p><p>Columns draped with sheer white cloth and nets of fairy lights separated sections of the roof into cozy nooks filled with white, overstuffed couches. There was already a crowd of people sitting on the couches, enjoying plates of various foods and drinking wine.</p><p>“This is our son Bogart Coinneach Thorne.” Griselda’s hand landed on Bog’s arm, and he jumped. He had been introduced and had to look like he wasn’t taken off guard. Bog turned and smiled at Mrs. Marchand, readying his hand to shake if that was what she wanted. “We call him Bog.”</p><p>“What a long name.” The woman grinned at him in a way that made him immediately uncomfortable. She was as old as his mother, and he swore she looked him up and down like a strange delicacy stood before her. He swallowed and prepared, but she didn’t hold out her hand. Instead, she motioned to the party because more people were getting off the elevator that she had to greet. “Why don’t you enjoy yourself, and we’ll talk later,” she said cheerily.</p><p>Bog nodded quickly, taking the out to stride past her and out into the open courtyard. He was safe for the moment but knew that promise to talk later was not one he wanted fulfilled.</p><p>####</p><p>The rooftop was even more splendid than usual.</p><p>Marianne had been in this place in the past, escorting her parents on their myriad of events. But she’d never seen it quite so grand before. The ornamental, softly glowing electric candles were a nice, new touch, and she mentioned it politely to Mrs. Marchand when she entered with her family, receiving warm thanks in return.</p><p>Unlike Marianne, it was Dawn’s first time in this particular type of event, and the younger Gold sister had her eyes open wide like saucers. She gushed about the decorations, and when their parents walked off to begin their mingling, Dawn elbowed Marianne in the ribs. She pointedly looked at the crystal fountains placed around the food corner—one swimming with burgundy red wine, the other filled with the delicate pale yellow of white wine. The air around them was almost enough to make Marianne’s head swim from alcoholic fumes.</p><p>“Hey, Marianne—look,” Dawn whispered, discreetly pointing a finger at the unsupervised alcohol. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”</p><p>“If you mean I’m thinking of dragging you by your ear back home, then yes!” Marianne hissed.</p><p>“You’re no fun! We could just have a glass each, and none would be wiser.” Dawn pouted, then her face went still, and she uncrossed her arms. “See you later. I just saw someone!”</p><p>In a flash, Dawn vanished into the crowd, her ankle-length pink and black printed wrap dress swishing around a guest’s leg as she took a sharp turn.</p><p>Sighing, Marianne turned towards the refreshment table, looking for something nonalcoholic to drink.</p><p>A server stood by a long table covered with soft drinks. With a polite smile, Marianne pointed at a Sprite, and the young man in a fancy black server’s uniform decorated with stunning flame designs over his left shoulder poured a tall, hexagon-shaped glass full of the drink, garnished with a large square ice cube and two twists of lime skin. He winked and handed her the glass with a flirty smile and a napkin.</p><p>Only too used to men’s reactions to her, Marianne gave him a closed-lipped smile and turned away, wondering if there was anyone currently present that would be able to keep her attention for longer than five minutes.</p><p>She waved hello to a few other socialites, people her age that like her went to functions like this.</p><p>They were all very dull.</p><p>Granted, she could probably pick one or two that could hold an interesting conversation, but most only wanted to talk about the recent fashion, their most recent vacation, or a business they were developing. There was little content in the things Marianne was genuinely interested in, and even fewer people took a job and sought to work for their place in the world.</p><p>Too many relied on their parents’ money and influence—something Marianne understood, but at the same time couldn’t bring herself to fully respect.</p><p>Snagging a gazpacho flute off a circulating tray, she sipped on it while milling around, wandering in the direction of the pools. Steam curled lazily above them, and a part of Marianne wished to take her clothes off and jump into the heated waters as if this was nothing more than a pool party among regular people and friends. Friends that didn’t own malls and have trust funds—accountants and salesmen and hairdressers and others that worked in nine to five jobs and didn’t build enterprises and host charity events and flew around the globe multiple times a year.</p><p>There was a line of elegant pool loungers with white padded mattresses and round outdoor sofas in multiple styles, fitting the modern chic interior design that was the matching mismatch the hotel had chosen to go with for the event.</p><p>On the way to her goal—an egg-shaped hanging swing on a rooftop corner that overlooked the city— Marianne exchanged a short conversation with another girl.</p><p>“So, how’s it going with you, Marianne?” said Hope, the youngest daughter of an executive in a legal firm in the city, after giving Marianne a rundown of her adventures in India where she went to a private ashram to find herself. It was something Marianne knew to be code for rehab in some secluded facility for the higher class.</p><p>“Actually really well; I have my store now—” she began, before getting interrupted.</p><p>“Aww, that cute little store you said you were working on a few months ago? How adorable!” Hope gushed, the freshly squeezed pineapple juice in her hand slushing in the glass as she clutched it to her chest.</p><p>With a supreme effort, Marianne kept the smile on her face, though she ground her teeth and strained her lips. Luckily, Hope lost interest, catching sight of a young man entering the party.</p><p>She gasped, gripping Marianne about the wrist. “Oh, my gosh, it’s Nils. I heard he just came back from the vineyard in Italy.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Me too…” Marianne mumbled.</p><p>“I’m going to get in there before the vultures set on him…” Hope whispered conspiratorially by her cheek. “It was great to see you, babe. Catch you around!” she called over her shoulder, turning away before Marianne even got to say goodbye.</p><p>Sighing in relief and dropping the empty gazpacho glass on a low table, she made her way to the swing, already feeling the straps on her heels pinch.</p><p>Ugh, I need to sit down ASAP.</p><p>The swing swayed gently in its dark corner, beckoning Marianne to investigate. Idly, she wondered whether the Thornes had made it to the party yet; she hadn’t seen either the elders or the younger anywhere. Perhaps they had decided not to come in the end or were delayed.  </p><p>That was a disappointment. Bog would have been a refreshing change from the current company. Bratty he might be, but there was something about him that was interesting, despite it. The façade had cracked after Marianne applied the make-up on him, and she was almost eager to see whether she could break it down further.</p><p>Solely for personal entertainment purposes, of course. Underneath, Bog would likely be just as shallow as anyone else in their social circle.</p><p>She walked around the swing, hidden from view, intending to throw herself into the soft cushions she knew lined the seat. Butt first, her eyes on the glittering horizon, her ears filled with the soft playing music from the closest speaker, Marianne didn’t see the occupant, nor did she hear the warning he called out.</p><p>She became aware that the swing was occupied only the moment her rump sat on his lap, an arm wrapping around her waist to keep her from tipping forward when he threw himself backward, making the chain the swing hung on rattle wildly on its hook.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” came his voice from far too close for comfort by her ear.</p><p>Marianne stood, stumbling forward till she hit the glass barrier. Pitching a bit too far, she had a moment of insane panic when the far below street loomed in front of her eyes, just as a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders to pull her back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bog cleans up. :D<br/>Bog cleans up GOOD.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Cougars, The Talk From Strangers, and Other Horrifying Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bog and Marianne run into each other at the party...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bog had a knack for finding spots that were out of the way where he could observe people doing their peoply things. When he was in observation mode, he sat back and relaxed, much like one would do watching pigeons in a park. And they were very much like pigeons, walking around aimlessly, engaging in mindless chitchat, stopping every now and then to peck at food or sip from their portable mud puddles.</p><p>While filling a plate with a suitable pile of sacrificial offerings—the price for his presence—he began looking for a place to hide. Bog stuffed a free craft soda bottle that looked interesting into one of his pockets. He spotted the swing in its somewhat private spot in less than two minutes and made his way over to investigate. The lights that should have been illuminating that area were not on, making it a great spot to sit unnoticed. Not only was it secluded, but it was also covered in soft cushions and wide enough for four people to sit on—or for him to recline on when he was done eating so he could just watch the people mingle.</p><p>Bog set his bottled soda into a drink ring on one side meant for a wine glass and began sampling what he had gathered. There were a few burnt ends from a barbecue restaurant, a thick slab of lasagna, a spoonful of Caprese salad, heavy with chunks of mozzarella, gruyere and crab palmiers, and a shrimp cocktail. There were still a dozen kiosks to visit in another trip, and he looked forward to each of them.</p><p>It was times like this Bog was thankful that he didn’t have any kind of food allergies. That would have made these functions a tragedy. Food was the only thing that made them bearable, and this one had some of the best he’d ever had.</p><p>Bog had finished half his plate when someone stepped in front of him, coming out of nowhere. She—and he was certain the shadow was a she by her shape—did not look back as she moved, clearly intending to sit. Bog set his plate onto the cushion beside him, in case she didn’t hear him in time, exclaiming, “Someone sitting here!”</p><p>The next thing he knew, a very nice, round rear slid over his lap. With a yelp, he leaned back, throwing the swing back, then reflexively wrapped an arm around her waist as she began sliding forward. If he didn’t, she would have ended up falling off, and that would possibly have been even more embarrassing if he didn’t make any moves to stop her.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bog breathed a sigh of relief as the swing swung forward, then after what seemed an eternity, the girl in his arms pushed away and got up. Great. I just did something stupid, and now I’m going to get yelled at. Bog grimaced, waiting for her to turn around and berate him for holding on to her for too long.</p><p>But she didn’t. Instead, she stumbled forward, wobbly on her heels, heading to the railing, and Bog instinctively lunged after her to grab her by the shoulders. For a moment, he caught the dizzying view before them. She could have gone over the edge if he hadn’t done anything.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Bog asked, pulling her back to the edge of the swing. She breathed heavily and fast, gasping for air. Again. He held her too long. Bog jerked his hands off her shoulders and sat down with a wuff. “Sorry, you were, you know, about to plummet to your death, and I just thought, maybe it was a good idea to stop that from happening.” Bog began stumbling over his words, attempting to head off what he assumed was coming.</p><p>The fact she hadn’t turned around yet was terrifying, then her shoulders eased, and her entire body shook with a laugh. That was an odd reaction to a near-death experience. Bog scowled, quirking an eyebrow at her until the recognition hit.</p><p>That laugh.</p><p>Her voice.</p><p>“Figures.” Marianne turned and looked at Bog with a smirk on her face, fixing the bag chain back on her shoulder.  </p><p>“You!” Bog gasped.</p><p>She… on my lap… that… holy—</p><p>“Yeah, me.” Marianne waved a hand negligently. “Get it all out.”</p><p>Bog said nothing. His mouth worked for a second before he shut it tightly. Better say nothing than something dumb.</p><p>“Yeah, well.” Marianne turned around, bending to smooth her dress down while Bog pointedly looked away from the view the action offered.</p><p>He turned back to the swing and saw the devastation. “Ahh! My food!” he shouted, catching sight of the mess on the floor.</p><p>“Ooh…” Marianne tsked from over his shoulder. “Dang. Those palmiers looked good.”</p><p>“Oh, man. I didn’t get to try everything…” Bog lamented, gesturing at the loss.</p><p>“Just go get more?”</p><p>“And risk getting snagged by someone?” Bog sneered at the thought. “No, thanks.”</p><p>“Huh. Not a party guy, are you?” she said softly, and Bog turned to face her again, the snarky reply evaporating in his mouth when he saw the thoughtful expression on Marianne’s face.</p><p>With no immediate danger to anyone or anything in the vicinity, Bog could look at her closer, noticing the way the forest green and sapphire blue paint over her eyes made the gold in her irises pop, framing the almond shape of them. It complemented the emerald of her high-necked velvet dress that flowed as naturally as moss on a tree.</p><p>And what a tree it is, too—curves and lines that had his fingers itch for pencil and paper, lush and ample in all the right places.</p><p>If her black dress the night before emphasized her slender frame, this one put it all on clear display.</p><p>And the smooth, bare skin of her back…</p><p>Luckily, Bog had managed to keep his ogling to a minimum, averting his eyes to the horizon before Marianne lifted hers. He saw out of the corner of his eye her plush lip caught between her teeth in what he imagined was discomfort and cleared his throat. It was probably better to risk the buffet while the party was in full swing than staying in a dark, secluded corner with Marianne. Nothing good could come of it.</p><p>“I’m going to get some more food. You can have the swing for yourself,” Bog said, gesturing to the large, swaying seat.</p><p>“Nah. I’ll slip over all the food on the floor.” She shrugged, the motion making the chain over her shoulder jingle. “Now I want some of those crab things. I’ll come with,” she declared, her heels click-clacking on the wooden deck as she stepped towards the low stairs leading back to the main party.</p><p>“With?”  </p><p>“I’ll come with you. Maybe help you find a seat in some other secret corner.” Marianne smiled deviously before the smile softened. “But don’t worry, I won’t stay. I know you don’t like me.”</p><p>“What?” Bog took a stumbling step in her direction. “That’s not true,” he objected.</p><p>“Oh?” From the bottom of the steps, Marianne half-turned, her eyebrow quirked.</p><p>“I don’t like you, either. I just don’t don’t like you.” Bog mentally put a palm to his face at the convoluted sentence. I’m making a mess of things… “I’m… ambiguous.” He waved a hand in the air.</p><p>Her grin stretched wider, and she moved backwards towards the open space, spreading her hands by her sides in a challenging way. “Undecided? I can work with that.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Bog went down the stairs, looking around the crowd with open suspicion. “Work with what?”</p><p>“It means I can win you over, yet,” she said, winking. The giggle that trailed was the only thing that indicated her direction as she vanished between the mingling guests.</p><p>I have a bad feeling about this… he thought, trying to follow her, anyway.</p><p>***</p><p>At the buffet, Marianne began picking through the different stations. She wandered over to the one with the crab hors d’oeuvres, and heard a familiar grunt behind her, rapidly followed by a discontent sigh.</p><p>That guy is the grumpiest nineteen-year-old I’ve ever seen. Does he have to complain about everything??</p><p>“Hey, so how many do yo—” Turning around to talk to Bog, Marianne stopped abruptly, seeing he wasn’t there.</p><p>Huh? Where did he go?</p><p>She set the two plates she’d filled on a table and went back into the chatting throng of people, searching for him. It should have been easy—Bog was taller than most of the party-goers—but somehow it wasn’t. After a minute or two of unease, she’d tracked him down to a corner, not too far from where she heard him last.</p><p>“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Holywell, but I really must be going now…” he muttered, an uncomfortable expression painted the long lines of his face.</p><p>“Oh, come on, now. I heard so much about you from your father and mother. Do you do commissions?” Mrs. Holywell, an older woman in her early forties, laid a hand over the bony hip she thrust out with a far too suggestive manner to be innocent. She was divorced, very well off, and notorious in their circles as a cougar.</p><p>Beside her was another, a Ms. Greyson, who was one of those women who swore never to marry, living off her family’s fortune. She, too, was a hunter of young men, usually tossing them aside after a year or so.</p><p>“I… I mainly do abstract, Mrs. Holywell,” Bog answered, scratching at his nape and looking around for rescue.</p><p>“I’ve seen the piece you made for the city hall. It was awe-inspiring,” Ms. Greyson interjected, her back straightened and her chest puffing out when Bog turned his eyes to her. She practically preened for his attention, taking a swig out of her champagne flute and throwing her salon-styled hair back. “Who was your muse?”</p><p>Just as he opened his mouth to reply—scowl shaping the dark eyebrows, drawing them down to shade his eyes—his gaze fell on Marianne.</p><p>Almost startled at its intensity, Marianne let out a very unattractive snort at the entire situation. He obviously saw the Cheshire smile growing on her lips, his frown deepening.</p><p>“If you’ll excuse me, ladies—I have someone waiting for me,” Bog smoothed his forehead, pasting a stiff, polite smile on his face before looking back to the women. “Have a wonderful rest of the evening, Mrs. Holywell, Ms. Greyson,” said Bog, before scuttling sideways like a crab between them, not even waiting for a reply.</p><p>The smile he put on for the cougars faded as soon as he turned his back to them, a curl of his lip replacing it. He stomped all the way to where Marianne stood, looking less than amused. She trembled with silent giggles, wiping a finger under her eye delicately to avoid smudging her make-up.</p><p>And here it was where Bog truly surprised her for the first time since they had met. Until that point, he had never taken any steps to initiate anything other than an argument.</p><p>Here it all changed.</p><p>“Ah, here you are, babe,” he said, almost spitting the words out. He snaked an arm around Marianne’s waist, though she didn’t miss the fact he hardly made actual contact with her skin. Bog tilted his head down, bringing his mouth close to her ear, whispering. “Go with it—you owe me.”</p><p>And how could she resist such a beautifully organic opportunity to mess with him when he was acting like that? It was like he had met her only yesterday.</p><p>Oh, wait. He did. And now he must suffer for it…</p><p>Sliding hands up his chest, Marianne craned her neck, gazing up in adoration, turning both of them slightly to the side so the two hounding Bog would see everything and lay off.</p><p>He asked for help, didn’t he? Let’s see how he likes this… </p><p>“I missed you!” She pouted, biting the inside of her cheek when Bog’s eyes widened in shock. Clearly, he hadn’t thought his request through at all—a fatal mistake on his part. “Will you have time to paint me, like you promised?”</p><p>“P—paint you?” he stammered, the hand at her waist twitching.</p><p>Marianne nodded enthusiastically. “Like one of those French drawings you’ve shown me.”</p><p>A loud gulp and a squeak told Marianne he did not miss the reference to a specific movie with a very popular topless scene. The fact his eyes flickered down was even more precious when combined with the blush that spread like wildfire from his neck to his forehead.</p><p>He actually looked like he would explode!</p><p>“French?”</p><p>“Of course, silly!” Marianne booped his nose playfully, one eye shutting in a wink, getting close to the final blow.</p><p>“Wha…?” Bog’s mouth almost trembled with the attempt at speaking.</p><p>Now to the K/O shot…</p><p>At last, Marianne grasped his hand in hers tightly, a little disgusted but mostly amused at the slick palm. It was gratifying to see the physical evidence of how much she affected him.</p><p>“Come on; I know where there’s a private room.” And with that, her eyes slid over to the older women watching the show, smirking at their disgruntled expressions. She turned her back on them and led a stumbling Bog back through the mingling party-goers to another private corner on the roof—one she’d found some years ago by accident.  </p><p>Bog had no choice but to follow, his hand loose in hers as they meandered across the roof, Marianne making a detour to retrieve the plates she had filled. She could not hide her smirk as she continued to the hidden nook, heading for a curtain that hung between two heavily decorated columns.</p><p>She pushed the curtain aside, and Bog had to duck to follow her into a small dark cubby. And then Marianne burst into laughter, shoving one of the plates into Bog’s hands. Bog scowled, scooting aside to allow some light in from the party on the other side of the curtain.</p><p>“I guess I should be glad you didn’t Jessica Rabbit me,” snorted Bog with a hint of sarcasm. He stumbled backward over an upturned chair and landed on his butt on something soft.</p><p>“Patty cake, patty cake.” Marianne laughed, plopping down on a cushion next to him. The last time she had seen this part of the roof, it was set up into a private nook for a small group of people to talk without being disturbed by whatever was going on nearby. Now, it appeared all the furniture that didn’t go with tonight’s event had been pushed off to the side into storage.</p><p>Bog began picking at the food, unable to see what was on the plate clearly. They ate in silence for several minutes, listening to the music and steady drone of conversation coming from the other side of the curtain.</p><p>“Thank you,” mumbled Bog. “I hate attending things like this.”</p><p>“Eh, you’re just fresh meat,” said Marianne with a smile, popping a lemon tart into her mouth. “Someone new will show up in a few months, and you’ll be old news.”</p><p>Bog nodded, tilting his head toward her. “You seem to know your way around.”</p><p>“I’ve been to tons of them, so I know all the best hiding spots.” Marianne grinned, motioning out to the city surrounding them. “I find the best views.”</p><p>“It’s,” Bog stared out over the city, “inspiring.”</p><p>“Coming through!” an unfamiliar voice announced as the curtain opened, sending light streaming over Bog and Marianne. They turned as one, staring as a petite woman in an elegant pantsuit barraged through the curtains. The baby blue and white pinstriped suit was tight, showing off the slender figure of Dr. Aura Plum. She shoved her hands into the open jacket’s pockets, sending her loose, pristine white silk blouse a-shaking with the mad rummaging.</p><p>At last, she popped a hand out with a victorious cry, a row of condoms unfurling to the ground. Marianne only had a second to note the pretty pearl and metal wrought headdress set in her messy up-do when she grinned at the two sitting on the couch before Bog began choking.</p><p>“Oh, my God!” She got up, throwing the plate on her just evacuated seat, and began energetically thumping his back. Three big slaps later, a piece of unidentified food flew out, and Bog took a deep, shaking breath.</p><p>“I’m impressed. Quick thinking and excellent execution,” said Plum as though she hadn’t just witnessed a life or death situation. “You must really like him.”</p><p>“Like him?” Marianne sputtered, staring at Plum in shock as Bog heaved and bent forward, his hands on his thighs. “I can’t stand him!” She turned and began waving her hands at him, gesturing wildly. “Look at him. He’s a complete and total disaster.”</p><p>“… thanks …” Bog grunted, glancing up at her. “I hate her too.”</p><p>“I didn’t say I hated you,” snapped Marianne. “Just that I am not interested in him in that way.” And she pointed at the strip of condoms, the heat rushing through her face.</p><p>“Oh, but you are interested?” Plum cocked her head to one side, smiling pleasantly.</p><p>“No!” both shouted. Bog forced himself upright, took a step away from Marianne, and then looked down to where he had once again dropped a plate of food. An untouched crab palmier sat in the middle, and for a moment, he wondered if it was a three-second or sixty-second rule about eating food off the floor.</p><p>Whatever.</p><p>Bog knelt and began reaching for the pastry only to have Marianne grab him by the elbow and hiss, “Don’t you dare. What are you, some kind of animal?”</p><p>“I still haven’t gotten one,” grumbled Bog, standing back up with a sigh.</p><p>“There’s still plenty out there, but let’s say you, and I have a little chat about teenage pregnancy and STDs, then I’ll leave these with you and be on my way.” Plum shook the strip again.</p><p>“I’m not a teenager,” said Marianne, baffled at Plum’s forwardness.</p><p>“And I am a—” Bog’s words drowned in a sputter, glancing at Marianne wide-eyed. “I have had this discussion with my parents, who are the only ones I should have this discussion with.”</p><p>Marianne turned to Bog, giving him a far too wide-grin, her brows tilting down as mischief gleamed through her eyes. She was about to comment when Plum stepped forward, grabbing both of them by the arms. They ended up back on the couch with Plum sitting between them.</p><p>“I’ve got a story for you!” Plum began.</p><p>“No!” Bog cringed away from her. “No stories!”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a quick one,” Plum went on energetically. “When I was sixteen, there was this wonderful boy, and I loved him so much, and we went off, did the thing… did it a lot of times.”</p><p>The curtain shifted, and a teenaged boy poked his head through the curtain. “Mom?” He stared, his mouth falling open and the dark complexion over his face going pale.</p><p>“That’s my son, Sunny, who is the reason why I carry around preventatives to hand out to couples who might need one.” Plum cheerily rambled on. “I also have the morning after pill, just for those times passion gets the best of you.” She winked.</p><p>“Mother!” Sunny stepped through the curtain, closing it behind them. “We talked about this! What the hell are you doing? You’re embarrassing me!”</p><p>“Whaat? I was in here privately speaking to this lovely young couple when you chose to come in here,” said Plum as though they were discussing a family picnic.</p><p>“We’re not a couple!” Bog and Marianne groaned.</p><p>“But you could be.” Plum laughed and tore the strip in half, offering one half to each of them. “Anyway, short story even shorter, I ended up with a baby at seventeen, and my parents were not happy about it, and neither were my boyfriend’s parents.”</p><p>By now, all they could do was listen, hoping she’d get to the end of the story and go away. Marianne glanced at Sunny, who dragged a hand slowly down his face, moaning. She knew who they were because they lived in the Fairy Forest on the residential floor, and she felt terrible for the kid.</p><p>“Now, I love and adore my boy, but it’s not the way to start out life. I was lucky, but my boyfriend, well… his parents shipped him off to military school, and I never saw him again.” Plum finished her story and waved the strips in front of Bog and Marianne.</p><p>“People still ship their kids off to military school?” Bog grimaced, staring at Plum.</p><p>“What was that, fifteen years ago?” Marianne glanced at Sunny, taking the strip of condoms and folding them neatly on their perforated lines so she could slide them into her purse. “Huh.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know if that’s actually what happened.” Plum shrugged, and her face fell for the briefest of moments. “He just disappeared, and his family wouldn’t tell me where he went.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s really sad.” Marianne went with it, glancing at Bog, who was still staring at the strip of condoms like they were a snake preparing to strike. She mouthed the words Take them, and he stared at her blankly.</p><p>“Seriously, Mother, stop it. Honestly, anyone over the age of eighteen probably already has a box of condoms and doesn’t need you embarrassing them.”</p><p>“You never know.” Plum turned to Bog, holding out the strip, and he finally took them, pinching the top between his forefinger and thumb. The look of bewilderment on his face would have made Marianne laugh at another time, but given what he’d been through during the day, it was far too sad.</p><p>“Well, you’ve had your talk, and we have them if anything suddenly gets ‘serious’.” Marianne made air quotes as she said serious, glancing at Sunny, who gave a big heaving sigh. “So maybe you can go now so we can see if this goes anywhere?”</p><p>“We are not a couple!” Bog stood, his legs shaking as he strode past Sunny.</p><p>“Don’t forget to pinch the tip!” Plum called out.</p><p>Bog groaned and shoved the strip into Sunny’s hands. “Here, maybe you’d need this more than I do.” He exited through the curtain, his entire body trembling with what almost looked like the start of a seizure.</p><p>Marianne grimaced, glancing at Plum and Sunny. Chasing after Bog to make sure he was okay was not a good idea. He wouldn’t appreciate her following him, and it might give Plum ideas.</p><p>“Thank you,” Marianne turned her attention to Plum. “It’s nice to have a non-judgmental adult around.” She hoped her words would get her to leave, and Plum smiled, sliding to her feet.</p><p>“Anytime,” said Plum, batting at her pants, smoothing the material. “I also have free pregnancy tests if you ever need them.”</p><p>Marianne cringed, doing a far better job at hiding her discomfort than Bog did—or, for that matter, Sunny. Plum’s son stood in the same spot, holding the condoms like they were the most disgusting things he had ever seen. It was a little amusing that he had that reaction, given that Plum likely talked to him constantly about such things.</p><p>“Mom,” groaned Sunny, thrusting his hands out at her to give her the strip. “Please, get rid of them!”</p><p>“Certainly!” Plum grabbed the strip, whirling it in the air. “I saw some other kids out there canoodling behind the buffet table.”</p><p>Sunny groaned louder, following his mother through the curtain. “Why are you like this? Why can’t you be a normal mother trying to make sure I’m not jumping into bed with every girl out there?”</p><p>Their voices faded, and Marianne remained sitting, thinking about what she could do and if she wanted to do anything. Bog didn’t really need her, did he? She certainly didn’t need him, but still, she was torn.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have nothing to say.<br/>I really have NOTHING to say.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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